Not Like It Is In The Dime Novels
by CalicotheCat
Summary: Heyes and Curry meet a Dime Novel authoress. Can they live up to the heroes in her stories? This one has everything! Action, mystery, romance, Heyes in the hay, a hissable villain and a fine Cuban cigar for the Kid!
1. Chapter 1

**NOT LIKE IT IS IN THE DIME NOVELS**

**By Calico**

**PROLOGUE 22nd February 1883 Butte**

The winter sun failed to deliver any warmth to the railway platform. Cleared snow was heaped in muddy piles around the edge of a rough path leading to a waiting carriage. The stable hand, not wanting the horses to become chilled, led them back and forth a few hundred yards along the mud and stone street.

Four men, stamping their feet every so often in the cold, watched the train first steam into view, then slow to a prolonged halt. Two – railway employees - scurried forward to the baggage car. Further up the line a door opened. Out stepped a tall, broad shouldered, individual. He surveyed his reception party of two blandly, then smiled. The expression, on his still handsome face, was confident, but below the smile, lurked a hint of wily calculation. Turning, he reached up his hand to help down the slight figure of a woman, well swathed in furs to keep out the Montana cold.

The younger of the two men on the platform stepped up to her.

"Mrs. Carleton?" he confirmed, touching his hat, "My name is Christopher Lloyd, your brother's partner. I hope, ma-am – I hope you received my wire?"

She looked up at him, cast a nervous glance at the man by her side, then nodded.

"May I offer you my condolences, ma-am?" he said.

"If only we could have been here just a few days sooner," answered the assured tones of the new arrival, "I know Louis wanted so much to see my wife before – the end." He shook his head sadly, "But travelling in winter – you understand – we were delayed."

He looked enquiringly at the second man.

Christopher Lloyd spoke up, "This is Mr. Walford, from Helena."

This man too, touched his hat.

"I represent the firm of Walford, Walford and McKeever, ma-am. Your family lawyers in Boston appointed us as proxies to handle your brother's will – and now to transfer the estate." A pause. "My condolences, too, Mrs. Carleton on your loss."

A very small voice emerged from the fur hood.

"Thank you."

"My wife is tired by the journey," declared Carleton. "I'd like to get her home – to our new home that is – as soon as possible. You understand, she is in – a – a delicate situation."

The woman lowered her eyes, shyly.

"Please accompany us, Mr. Walford;" went on Carleton, "I am sure I can help with anything you need to take care of – while Lydia rests."

Taking her arm, he led the quiet woman, to the waiting carriage; followed by the lawyer, then – after a moments pause – by the uninvited Christopher Lloyd.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

CHAPTER ONE Four months later - Monday 11th June 1883

Heyes and Curry, saddlebags swung across their shoulders, strode down the station platform. They scanned the crowded coaches, searching not only for unwanted familiar faces, but also for the best chance of empty window seats and enough quiet for one partner to indulge in a nap whilst the other watched for trouble.

At the conductor's warning cry of "All Aboard", the partners abandoned dwindling hopes for the luxury of solitude and swung aboard.

They moved slowly down the coach; patiently waiting as other passengers stowed bags and settled into their seats. Judging by appearances their fellow travellers boasted a high proportion of miners, a tiny minority accompanied by wife and children, a sprinkling of cowboys and the occasional suited clerk.

Heyes nudged Curry and directed his eyes towards a solitary young woman at the far end of the coach. The seats opposite her were empty of human occupation, but loaded with two valises and what at first glance seemed a jumble of about twenty dime novels. The woman herself, impervious to the buzz of movement around her, was scribbling fluently on sheet after sheet of thin foolscap. Occasionally, she paused, pencil lodged temporarily behind her ear, to consult a cheap novel folded open by her side.

Approaching her, Heyes gave a polite cough. No response.

"Ma-am," A little louder, "Excuse us, ma-am."

She looked up, surprised grey eyes under untidy mouse-brown bangs.

"These seats free, ma-am?" asked Kid.

She glanced up and down the car, suddenly aware how it had filled up over the last few stops. Her eyes returned guiltily to her belongings strewn opposite and she gave the partners an apologetic smile.

"Of course. I'm so sorry - I hadn't realised. I practically had the car to myself when I set out."

"Must have set out a good way back," smiled Heyes.

She paused in the act of reaching to move the valises. Her eyes widened expressively and she gave an exaggerated shudder.

"It feels like weeks ago, though I suppose it was really only daybreak." She smiled a "thank you" at Kid, as he took the valises from her and swung them into the overhead rack. "I've been travelling west for over a week now. Even when I'm in a hotel bed, I still hear the wheels going chu-chugga, chu-chugga, chu-chugga, chu-chugga."

On first seeing her, both Heyes and Curry thought her plain. However, her mobile little face had an appeal of its own as she spoke.

Heyes had been stacking the jumbled dime novels. Flipping through the titles before placing the pile on the one remaining free seat, he glanced up surprised.

"You've kinda got a taste for readin' 'bout Robin Hood, ma-am?"

She smiled broadly and shook her head decidedly.

"Absolutely not. If I never read another word about those raucous and annoyingly merrie men, it'll be too soon." She patted the manuscript in her lap, "This is the last of a dozen I'm contracted for this year. Once it's done my publisher has promised I can have a change."

Kid blinked in surprise, "You write dime novels?"

She assumed an expression of mock affront, "Dime novels, sir! How dare you? Can't you see the cover price is clearly given as twenty-five cents? These novellas are aimed at ladies craving a little romance, not adolescent boys."

Heyes smiled.

Nodding at the illustrated cover topping the pile, he asked, "So you're Rosamond Fayre - Maid of Sherwood?"

"When I'm doing medieval England. Sometimes I'm Mam'zelle Toinette, recounting the dashing adventures of seventeenth century swordsmen at the court of King Louis."

"The Three Musketeers, huh?"

"Not Dumas' Musketeers obviously. Three other fellows who just happen to bear a strong resemblance."

This drew an appreciative laugh from Heyes.

"And just occasionally, as a special treat, I'm allowed into this century, onto this side of the Atlantic and can dispense with the love scenes as Allan Chevalier - celebrated New York detective."

With a charming smile, Heyes asked, "And when you're on a train heading up to Montana, with two gentlemen asking for the pleasure of an introduction?"

She held out her hand, "Margaret Spencer, Meg to my friends. How do you do?"

Heyes shook the proffered hand, with an inclination of his head.

"Joshua Smith an' this is my partner, Thaddeus Jones."

"Where are you both headed?" she asked.

"Far as Helena, then on to Butte. You know - the minin' town not long sprung up," said Kid.

A delighted smile wreathed Meg's face, "That's where I'm headed!"

The ex-outlaws exchanged surprised glances; and looked back at her curiously.

With a cough, Heyes said, "Butte's likely to be pretty rough, ma-am. What takes you there?"

She drew herself up proudly, "I'm going to be assistant editor of the Butte Weekly Herald."

She frowned at the disbelieving expressions facing her.

"What's wrong with that?" she asked with dignity. "I write these - "her hand flapped the manuscript in her lap, "for the money. But really I'm an investigative journalist."

Her travelling companions exchanged a look, which suggested she had not convinced them.

"I am," she insisted. "I've worked on the Boston Weekly Enquirer for over two years!"

Heyes gazed at her.

"And some editor in Butte has offered you a job?" Heyes said, with a smile that was friendly, but still carried an implicit "Oh yeah?"

Kid was frowning in concern.

"Does he know that you're a…. You're…" he broke off.

"I'm what?" she asked, sitting yet straighter in her seat as she swelled in preparation for a burst of injured pride.

With an exasperated sigh, Kid abandoned his search for a tactful way to put it.

"For a start, does he know you're a girl? An' only 'bout, what - twenty three, twenty four?" Meg looked ready to explode with an angry retort, but Kid forestalled her, "An' it's not right for a lady on her own to be allowed anywhere near the lowlifes that'll be swarmin' in Butte."

Meg turned from Kid, to the still smiling Heyes, who merely raised an enquiring eyebrow. Suddenly the affronted dignity left Meg's face.

Leaning forward with a confiding smile, she said, "Well, maybe the way I put it isn't quite the whole story. I am going to assist the editors of the Butte Weekly Herald, but they won't exactly be paying me because it doesn't exactly make enough money yet. So I don't know if you'd count that as being offered a job?"

Heyes grinned, "I think we'd count that, ma-am. Thaddeus an' I recall a few jobs which didn't involve gettin' paid."

Kid chimed in, "Course - we didn't usually plan it in advance, the way you have."

With a smile, Meg continued, "Kate Thornton - Kate Connor now - is my one of my best friends in the whole world. We roomed together in college. She married last year. Emerson, that's her husband and I worked together on the Boston Enquirer. That's how they met. They moved out West to set up and run their own paper." She drew breath, "And when I say I'm an investigative journalist - I would be if I got a chance. Most of the time I have to report on weddings and social events and …" she shuddered, "… profiles of debutantes." Meg settled back in her seat, "Emerson and Kate wrote saying could I help out, take over some of Kate's work and be with her. She's expecting a - a happy event in November." Meg looked at Kid and gave a wry smile, "So, you can relax from that gallant worrying. I'll be safely lodged with a respectable married woman to chaperone me."

After a short pause, Meg looked from one partner to the other.

"What about you?" she asked. "What takes you to Butte? Are you miners?" She grinned mischievously, "Or do you plan to swarm amongst the lowlife?"

"Not miners, ma-am," said Heyes, "That kinda work bein' a little hard on the back. We're in what you might call security work."

She looked inquiringly from one to the other.

"Security?" she prompted.

In spite of his better judgment, Kid could not resist the wide questioning eyes.

In a low voice, he said, "The bank's hired us to guard the company's payroll out to the mine."

"Guarding a payroll!" her voice rose with excitement.

Heyes shifted in his seat and glanced round, "A little louder, ma-am. I don't think them three mean lookin' fellas at the far end, heard you."

She subsided, mouthing - "Sorry."

Then leaning forward, she hissed conspiratorially, "If you're guarding a payroll shouldn't you stay with it - in the freight car, or somewhere?"

Heyes leant forward till his lips were only inches from her ear and breathed in return, "That'd probably be the best idea ma-am, but it'd be a mite premature. We don't pick up the money till we reach the bank at Helena."

"Oh!"

Gray eyes met deep brown. Meg realised she was gently being made fun of. She grinned ruefully and settled back. After a moment or two of silence, she began, once again to scribble at her story, nibbling at her pencil end when inspiration failed.

A thought struck her. Looking up she gave the partners an appealing look, "Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, if you are experts on security -?"

The partners exchanged a look, then, in unison, nodded for her to continue.

"Could you possibly help me with a few plot ideas?" She smiled persuasively, "It'd help pass the time and I'd be happy to buy you dinner in Helena to say 'thank you'."

Cautiously Kid asked, "What kinda thing you got in mind, ma-am?"

"Well," she leaned forward and assumed a business like tone. "The sheriff has captured Will Scarlett and has him in a closely guarded cell deep beneath the castle. There's a moat, barred gates and guards before you even reach the dungeons. Will is to be watched day and night." Her eyes took on a hopeful look, "Any thoughts on a nice, innovative way for Robin to break his partner out of jail?"

Curry rolled his eyes as a broad grin lit up Heyes' face. Watching his partner take a blank sheet of paper and the pencil from Meg's fingers, Kid settled well back into his seat tipping his hat forward over his eyes.

Preparing to try for a nap, Kid heard Heyes' voice.

"Let's just sketch the layout, ma-am. We'll consider any weak spots. Then we'll think 'bout the routine of the guards - when they change, any habits that can be exploited. An' you need to consider distraction tactics, drawin' away attention from your real plan ..."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO **

**Early morning, Tuesday 12th June 1883 - Helena**

Next day, after a night at a Helena hotel, Heyes and Curry were holding onto their patience as Wilbur Beckett, a fussy, nervous, senior clerk in charge of the Butte copper mine account, went over their instructions.

"Now we have received excellent references for you gentlemen from," he consulted a letter in his hand, "Mr. Porter of the Bank of Porterville, Wyoming. He states that you foiled a robbery attempt by a gang of six desperate outlaws. He goes on to say you fought to save the bank's money 'as if it were your own'. There is also a recommendation here from," again Beckett peered at the document he held, "Elected Sheriff, Lom Trevors."

Becket paused and peered over his spectacles at the partners standing before him. His eyes moved from Heyes, confident and relaxed, to Kid, gracefully leaning against the wall. The pair had behaved with the utmost civility since arriving at the bank, but Beckett caught an underlying sense of danger.

Clearing his throat, he went on, "Sheriff Trevors speaks most highly of your ability, initiative and capacity to predict the likely workings of the criminal mind."

Heyes and Curry exchanged a wry glance at this and Heyes favoured Beckett with a self-deprecating smile.

"You understand this is a very large amount of money being transported? $80,000."

"You made that very clear, Mr. Beckett," said Heyes.

"I will be accompanying you to take care of documenting receipt by the company and any administrative issues arising from its allocation to gang leaders and other employees. The job is not over when we reach the mine; only when the payroll is safely distributed. I hope that's understood?"

"You expectin' trouble at the other end?" asked Kid, with a glance at Heyes.

Beckett frowned, "I am not cogniscent of any anticipated difficulties. However, since Mr. Carleton insists on the bank's retaining liability until after distribution and is prepared to pay the additional security and insurance costs incumbent upon that request, I can only assume that he does indeed -" the clerk met Kid's eyes, " - expect trouble at the other end."

"Uh huh," said Kid and again his eyes met those of his partner.

Heyes adopted his most persuasive tone, "Now, Mr. Beckett, that kinda changes the terms. We were hired to guard a payroll durin' transportation. Sounds like there's been what you might call, extras, added after transportation?"

"I don't think the words 'during transportation' were specifically mentioned, Mr. Smith. The pay for the job is agreed at $400."

Heyes smiled, but his eyes when they met Beckett's held a challenging look.

"Seems to me, if this Mr. Carleton is payin' for additional security, my partner and I can expect a share. Unless, of course, you want to find someone else to take over after transportation."

Beckett eyed him with a certain admiration, "I am authorised to offer you a further $200 to reflect the extra duties required in Butte."

"Apiece?" said Heyes.

"Really, Mr. Smith, I think that is not entirely reasona…"

"Apiece," said Kid, firmly.

Beckett looked from Kid's cool blue eyes, to the tied down gun resting so naturally in its scuffed holster.

"Apiece," he agreed, with a gulp.

To recover his authority, Beckett began again to lecture the partners.

"You are responsible not only for the money, but for my personal safety as an employee of the Helena City Consolidated Territorial Bank of Montana. I hope that's understood."

Kid pushed back his hat and looked Beckett up and down.

"We kinda figure any thieves'll prefer the cash, Mr. Beckett. But if they take a fancy to you instead, rest assured, we'll do our level best to stop 'em."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Later that morning, Heyes was leaning against the car set aside for the Hamilton & Lloyd Mine payroll. He was reviewing a map of the route, assessing likely points for any trouble. Curry was checking out the couplings and underside of the car for tampering and testing the firing angles he could achieve from each window. Finally, he practiced swinging himself out of the car and onto the roof.

Seeing Beckett's astonished, but impressed, glance he said laconically, "Just in case!"

Heyes became aware of a minor disturbance further up the platform. The diminutive, but determined, Meg was arguing with a conductor.

"Told you twice already, ma-am. This ain't a passenger service. It's just takin' blastin' equipment out to the mine."

A discrete man, he did not mention the payroll.

"But the scheduled train is a three day wait. I could be with my friends this afternoon!" She tried feminine wiles, "Surely you could find a tiny corner for little me? Please?"

She tried - and failed.

"Lady," he said firmly. "I just blow the whistle. You wanna talk someone into lettin' you ride perched on boxes o' dynamite and nitro' - go bother the mine engineer." He nodded at a man supervising the loading of the freight cars, "He'll say no - but go annoy him. Not me."

Meg did not go to annoy the Engineer. Turning disconsolately away, she caught sight of Heyes and Curry. With a yelp of happiness, she scampered up the platform toward them.

"Hello again," chirruped Meg. "Is this where you're carrying the -?" having learnt her lesson yesterday, she finished the sentence with an exaggerated wink.

Heyes glanced behind him at the car. Kid was now swinging himself down from the roof, before checking - again - the bolts of the door.

"Hope so," said Heyes. "Otherwise Thaddeus sure is wastin' his time."

"May I ride with you?" she asked.

Heyes looked at her.

Meg had fully intended to honour her promise of buying dinner for the partners last night, but they firmly insisted on paying. Kid, unbeknownst to her, had seen the girl worriedly study the room rates; count the contents of her purse; then ask for a reduction if she skipped breakfast. Heyes did not share Kid's high level of instinctive chivalry. But he did not like to picture lively, sociable Meg, knowing not a soul in Helena, seeking a cheap boarding house to sit out three lonely days.

"Not my decision, Meg," he answered. With a nod towards the bank clerk, he went on, "Go ask Mr. Beckett, there. Tell him it's fine with us - don't make gettin' robbed any more likely."

The ex-outlaw listened to Meg going once more through her plea.

"… a three day wait. I could be with Kate, - with friends in Butte, today."

Heyes watched Meg's shoulders droop as she was again turned down.

"I suppose I should wire Emerson, that I'll be three more days," she sighed.

"Emerson?" repeated Beckett. "Emerson Connor?"

Meg nodded, beginning to hope.

"So, Kate, the friend who would come to meet you - is Mrs. Emerson Connor?"

Another eager nod.

"I had the pleasure, once, of helping Mrs. Connor with a small banking transaction," said Beckett and smoothed down his hair, trying to cover the bald spot.

Meg gave this an 'how interesting' smile.

"What a nice lady. So refined. It would be a pleasure to do a favour," Beckett bowed, "for a friend of hers."

He straightened his tie and adjusted his cuffs, polishing the silver links.

"Under the circumstances, I will allow you to travel under my escort," concluded Beckett.

"Oh, thank you." said Meg. "I'll go wire her to expect me. And tell her, it's all thanks to you, Mr. Beckett," she added diplomatically.

Beckett smiled graciously. An idea occurred.

"Allow me to wire your expected arrival time to Mrs. Connor. I'll take the liberty of sending my respectful compliments with it." In an undertone to himself, as he scurried away, he added, "I wonder if I could borrow a clothes brush..."

Heyes stared at Meg.

"What's this friend of yours got, that makes mentionin' her name so all-fired persuasive?" he asked.

Meg gave a shrug, then wry smile.

"I suppose you could say, she's quite pretty," she offered.

Heyes watched the sudden spring in Beckett's step, as he rounded the corner to the telegraph office.

"If she gets that reaction, just by visitin' a bank, Meg," he said, "I suspect 'quite pretty' isn't a description up to your usual standard."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

The journey to Butte was completed without incident.

Curry helped Meg step down from the car. Both partners were still on the alert for danger. Meg looked round. With a cry of pleasure, she sprinted over to be caught up and swung off her feet, by a tall, lanky, sandy-haired man.

"It's so good to see you!! The office just hasn't been the same!! You look so well!! Where is she? Where's Kate?" she babbled.

"Just coming. She waited in the rig until the train pulled in," he replied. Then, "Here she is."

With another squeak of joy, Meg ran to the approaching young woman, hugged her, then began to pull over her old friends to be introduced to her new ones.

Tactfully, Meg started her introduction of Wilbur Beckett with - "Of course you'll remember Mr. Beckett. You met him at the bank in Helena…"

Heyes watched Kate Connor, shake hands and smilingly thank the bank clerk. He had to excuse the man's Adam's apple bobbing, as he stammered, how happy he was to meet Mrs. Connor again.

Meg had definitely suffered a temporary dip in her descriptive powers, in calling her friend 'quite pretty'.

"… And this is Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones, who were so kind as to keep me company yesterday and buy me dinner…"

Heyes smiled as his partner shook hands, first - slightly open-mouthed - with Kate, then with Emerson. Curry looked from Kate - wide generous mouth with a delightful lift at one corner, dimple showing like a dent in cream, whenever she spoke or smiled, smoky dark eyes; to Emerson's beaky, bony face. As his partner was a man of few words, Heyes thought he could sum up Curry's mental comments as; "Wow!" followed by, "Sheesh!"

Introductions over, Meg was looking curiously at the man, shirtsleeves rolled up, authoritatively supervising the unloading and onward transport of blasting equipment.

"That's Chris Lloyd," said Wilbur Beckett, deferentially. "As in 'Hamilton & Lloyd' mine company. He likes to stay involved on the practical side."

"Hamilton was one of the few Easterners to make a fortune in Deadwood," explained Emerson. "He had a lucky strike in the Black Hills back in '76. Teamed up with Lloyd as the operation grew."

"Mr. Lloyd is one of the cleverest trained engineers in the country," Kate continued.

"What he doesn't know about the technical side of mining, isn't worth knowing," agreed her husband. "Hamilton made him a junior partner on the strength of it. Together they raised capital to develop a silver mine here, two years ago."

Wilbur Beckett was torn, whether to keep his eyes on Kate, or cast them enviously towards one of his bank's most valued customers.

"They never struck a main silver vein," he explained. "But last year, Lloyd hit one of the largest copper deposits ever discovered. The mine's already shifted nearly 5,000 tons."

"So he's what you might call rich," said Heyes.

"Very, rich. Very, very, rich." Beckett breathed. "And he only owns fifteen percent."

"We likely to see this fella, Hamilton, around too?" asked Kid.

"'Cause we'd like to be warned in advance, so as not to choke on the dust kicked up by the bowing and scraping," Heyes added, raising a giggle from Meg.

"He died last winter," said Beckett. "Mr. Carleton is now the major shareholder and runs the mine. He came out from Chicago. Used to be in the meat packing trade there. You'll meet him soon." His expression suggested, this was not something to look forward to. "In fact…." he indicated a suited clerk, accompanied by two armed men, clearly waiting to speak to him.

"Of course, you have business to attend to," said Emerson, preparing to leave with the ladies. "Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, will you dine with us tomorrow night? I'd like to thank you, for your kindness to Meg."

The partners exchanged a silent conversation. That left tonight for the poker, whiskey and saloon company, which usually followed getting paid for a job - and tomorrow to sleep it off. As a contrast, a civilised evening, in the home of friendly people, who wanted nothing from them, sounded good too.

"Mr. Connor, it'll be a real pleasure," said Heyes.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE **

**Late afternoon, Tuesday 12th June 1883 - Butte**

Trestle tables were set up to the left of the open door. The laid out ledgers had their pages clipped to prevent leaves turning in the breeze as it carried the dust and acrid fumes from the shafts across the hillside. Pens stood ready by filled inkwells.

Wilbur Beckett sat behind one of the ledgers. Two bookkeepers, employees of the Hamilton & Lloyd mine, flanked him. Secured metal boxes stood before each of the men. Beckett glanced up nervously at the forty or so gang leaders lining up beyond the gates of the compound in which the mine offices stood. The murmur of men's voices reached him, the words indecipherable, but the discontent they conveyed only too apparent.

The mine had provided its own security - including Joe and Caleb who had met the payroll at the station. Becket drew no comfort from this. The sight of armed men about to open the compound gates and guards positioned around the trestles, frightened the little man. The key trembled in his hand as he tried to release the lock of the first security box.

Heyes and Curry stood before his table. They appeared relaxed, but Beckett never doubted they were fully alert, ready to react to any threat. He opened the lid of the first box, it slipped through his damp grasp, its sharp edge thumping into the wood beneath. Curry turned. Beckett tried for a brave face, but Kid saw the nervous tick work at the corner of the man's mouth. Curry had known fear well enough himself, over the years; and he had his skill and the unfailing nerve of Heyes, to depend upon. Beckett had nothing, but two hired strangers.

Kid gave Beckett a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry. We've two hundred apiece ridin' on you getting safe an' sound back to Helena. If the devil himself, an' all his minions, came through them gates to raze this mine to the ground with fire an' brimstone; Joshua an' I would still carry you over the rubble to meet that train!"

From inside the office, a lean, hollow cheeked, man emerged. From under hooded lids, hawk-bright eyes scanned the compound.

The ex-outlaws took covert stock of this new arrival. His clothes were dandified and sleek, but the scuffed and softened holster slung low on the left thigh, gun carried butt forward**, rivalled that of the Kid's in signalling hard repeated use. This man carried life and living on his hip.

Joe, positioned near the partners, breathed, "That's Deke Simons. Carleton hired him on as personal bodyguard - $60 a day's what I heard."

Heyes raised an eyebrow - good money.

"Fast as a snake. Mean too. He don't believe in givin' a man much of a chance to back down. Less'n they grovel real fast, real hard." Joe spat into the dirt, "Don't believe in warnin' shots neither."

Simons moved, with an easy grace, to take up a central position. This placed him around two feet from Curry.

He was followed moments later by a broad shouldered, powerful man of around forty-five. The man oozed prosperity and the air of one used to gaining and keeping the upper hand. He strode out and stood, legs astride, in the open doorway. The murmured, 'Good morning Mr. Carleton, Sir's, hat tipping and general bootlicking from bookkeepers and guards, made his identity clear.

The gates clanged open and miners began to move forward into the compound. Last to enter were the two Chinese headmen, collecting for the teams of labourers hired not to work in the shafts, but to dump cars, remove surface rubble, cook and wash laundry.

Beckett cleared his throat, "Wages due over the past seven weeks have been calculated by Mr. Pinker and Mr. Dawkins, here." He nodded at the bookkeepers, readying the first payment and nervously pushing the pens closer to the ledgers for receipt to be signed, "If those collecting for teams working in the East shaft would like to step forward first - orderly lines please, gentlemen - we can start."

Perhaps correctly, Joe thought Beckett's thin voice was unlikely to carry across the compound.

"East shaft," he bellowed, "Zeke, Hal, rest of ya… git up here. One at a time. Let's move!!"

Hal McBride stepped up to the trestle. His intelligent grey eyes scanned the three men behind the table as he gave his name. He was older than most of the men there. A seasoned skilled worker, face roughened by years of dust, hands crisscrossed with the scars of his trade. McBride's intelligent grey eyes scanned the three men behind the table.

Mr. Pinker's finger ran down his ledger.

"McBride's team. Twelve men, two boys. Shifted 13 tons in May, 9 tons so far this month. Two fines for - " Pinker squinted at the ledger "- foul and abusive language used to a member of the supervisory staff, by a team member on company property."

McBride's eyes narrowed at that, but he made no objection.

"Fifteen additional payments for team -" again quoting from the book in front of him. " - team continuing to work for a period exceeding eleven hours, without interruption, following an instruction to do so by a member of the supervisory staff."

Pinker's eyes met those of the miner enquiringly. McBride nodded. Their figures tallied so far.

"$4060 payment due," continued the bookkeeper. Hal McBride pursed his lips then gave a shrug. Clearly the total was within spitting distance of his own calculation and he wasn't a man to nitpick over the rounding."

Pinker took a gulp and the partners sensed tension mounting in his colleague sitting to the other side of Beckett and in the guard at the trestle. With a deep breath, Pinker gabbled to a conclusion.

"To be paid $2030 in currency; the remainder tobeallocatedascreditatdesignatedcompanyestablishementsaccessibletoteammembersasperthedivisiontheyrequest. Pay this man $2,030 please Mr. Beckett."

"WHAT?!!!"

McBride's eyes flew first to Pinker, who was scarlet and keeping his eyes firmly down on the ledger. Then he turned to Carleton, who thumbs hooked into his vest, returned the stare coolly.

"What the hell do you mean $2,030 in cash?" he said, the disgust cold in his voice, "What crooked stunt are you tryin' to pull, you thievin' skunk?"

Kid saw that as Hal McBride spoke, Deke Simons slowly peeled the glove from his left hand, tucking it into his waist. Casually, as if just easing his weight from one leg to the other, Kid moved half a pace closer to Simons, hand relaxed by his side.

Carleton spoke clearly so the whole compound could hear, "Half the money due will be allocated as credit at designated company establishments accessible to team members as per the division they request."

Heyes turned sharply to look questioningly at the bank clerk behind him. Wilbur Beckett looked astounded - he had not known in advance.

Carleton held up a hand to silence the angry buzz beginning to rise from the men.

"Goods and provisions from my mercantile. Lodging in company houses; or rent on a company shack. Whiskey 'n' tail at my saloons." He smiled, as if making a reasonable argument, "All things you boys would spend your pay on anyway. This way, we cut the money we need to bring in from Helena. Lot less risk all round." He paused, exchanged a glance with Deke Simons, then added coolly, "Anyone have a problem with that?"

One of the younger men, not much past twenty, strode forward, purple with rage, voice shaking with anger.

"I gotta problem with that! I gotta problem sweatin' my guts out for a lyin', connivin', low-down -" The young man's hand was reaching inside his jacket.

Simons went for his gun. A snarl of astonishment swept across his face. His holster was empty! Wheeling, Simons saw Kid level his own weapon at the young hothead.

Voices amidst the crowd began to gasp.

"See that??!!"

"Didn't just beat Simons - took his gun!"

"Did ya see it??!!"

"Ain't no one that fast!"

Kid continued to level his weapon at the lad, but kept his voice deliberately unthreatening as he said, "Just makin' sure no one gets hurt."

Heyes, also now holding a drawn weapon, had moved, quick as a whip, to the young man's side. Holding his barrel upwards, he gave the youth a sympathetic look.

"Hand it over."

The lad held open his jacket. Heyes reached in and took an old 1849 colt pocket pistol, from inside. Emptying it, he handed the gun back, saying mildly, "Find a better way to deal with things, son. This way's gonna get you killed, without changin' anything."

Hal McBride had watched Heyes with a certain admiration. Now he returned his gaze to Carleton.

"Can't expect us to lie down an' take this," he said.

"If you prefer your fancy union principles - leave with nothing," snapped Carleton.

"Can't expect us just to surrender," McBride said, "A man has to have principles. Gotta believe some things are just plain wrong."

"Can't leave with nothin', Hal," called out a voice. "We need that money. Payroll's three weeks late as it is."

"Got me two married men in my team." agreed another man. "Families to feed. Runnin' up debt. I can't ask 'em to wait."

McBride was clearly torn.

Heyes, cleared his throat.

"Well, Mr. Beckett from the bank here is kinda a neutral party. And since me an' my partner are just seein' him safe from Helena, guess you could say we're neutral too."

He looked at McBride; two pairs of intelligent eyes met.

"Seems to me," said Heyes, "you might wanna take time to regroup. Lotta difference between surrendering, an' regroupin'."

McBride was listening.

"It also strikes me," continued Heyes, "you aren't always going to hit on the best way of dealing with a problem straight off. Not with everyone all riled up an' jumpy. The best plans take time. Course," Heyes frowned as if considering, "I've not had charge of a gang the way you have,"

Curry shot his partner a glance.

"But seems you might wanna consult your men. Listen to what they have to say, before deciding something right out."

McBride gave Heyes an almost imperceptible nod of agreement, strode forward to the trestle, picked up the $2030 counted out ready and scrawled his signature on the ledger.

"Don't think this is over, Carleton," he said coldly, before returning to the crowd.

The payroll distribution continued, resentfully, but peaceably.

As soon as it was clear no further incidents would occur. Curry turned to Deke Simons and held out the butt of Simons' gun for him to take. Simons scowled at Kid, fury darting from his eyes. Not only outdrawn and cheated of a kill - he had been made to look a fool!

"Gotta apologise for what happened there. I musta reached for the wrong holster by mistake," said Kid. "Have to practice more." He kept his tone civil, though his eyes held a challenge, as he went on, "It worked out the same in any case. Sure you could see there was no need to hurt the boy. Just a young hothead."

Simons snatched his gun and strode away with a snarl.

When all of the miners and company guards had left the compound Carleton walked over to Kid.

"You're fast," Carleton told Curry.

Kid made no answer.

"Lose your smart mouthed partner and I could use a man like you," he went on.

Carleton shot a resentful look at Heyes. If there was to be a showdown with the men, he wanted it on his own terms. The ex-outlaw's calming of the situation had not pleased him.

Kid looked coolly at the mine owner.

"Kinda like havin' his smart mouth around; specially when he's talkin' folk outta trouble," he said. "An' I doubt you'd find much use for me, Mr. Carleton. I don't know much about minin'."

"I wasn't thinking mining." responded Carleton. "Thinking of your other skills. The pay would be good. Real good."

"A reputable security job's one thing," said Heyes, "But he don't hire out his gun."

Carleton sniffed dismissively.

"Can't you speak for yourself?" he asked Kid.

Kid stared at the man for a long moment.

"Sure," answered Kid.

"Well?"

Kid again let the silence stretch between himself and Carleton. Carleton felt a chill as he looked back into those icy blue eyes. Then Kid nodded at Heyes.

"Like he said," were his only words.

Letting out his breath in an angry snort, Carleton wheeled around and strode back into the office.

A glowering Deke Simons watched this exchange. He continued to scowl at Curry until a relieved Mr. Beckett, after gratefully paying the partners, had them escort him to the return train to Helena.

_[Chapter note: ** - That is, in the style favoured by "Wild Bill" Hickok.]_


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR **

**Wednesday 13th June 1883**

Next evening, bathed, barber shaved and spruced up in freshly laundered shirts, Kid and Heyes presented themselves at the Connor house. The door was opened by a beaming Meg who ushered them into an airy sitting room. Kate, seated sketching at a sloping desk, positioned to catch the last of the evening's sunlight, rose to shake hands and invited them to sit down.

"Emerson is still at the office. I've warned him not to be later than seven. Dinner is planned for seven thirty, so if - or should I say when - he forgets, we have a safety margin."

Meg had moved to a sideboard bearing bottles and glassware.

"Can we offer you an aperitif?"

Kid blinked at the word, but relaxed as Meg carried on, "We've opened red wine to breath before dinner - would you like a glass now? Or there's sherry, or perhaps a whiskey?"

"Whiskey'd be just fine, ma-am," said Kid and Heyes nodded a 'same here'.

"Meg, please."

"And please, do call me Kate."

Heyes raised his glass in a smiling salute.

"Meg, Kate, here's to a pleasant evening." His eyes swept around the room, "You sure have got things nice here, Kate. Kinda civilised and refined, but not so refined a man can't relax."

She smiled.

Meg poured both ladies a sherry. As she sat down she shifted a small pile of new dime novels from the chair and placed them on a low table.

Heyes glanced at them, "Changed your readin' matter, Meg?"

She nodded, "Mmm. I wired my publisher yesterday from Helena, that a fair copy of the last fifty thousand words on the - frankly repetitive - romantic adventures of Robin Hood have been sent off to him in charge of the US mail." She sipped her drink, "He wired back orders for my next assignment and he'd already sent a package of background material to this address." She indicated a pile of papers lying on the table. "Since I'm not ashamed to say I need the money, I'm getting started."

Heyes turned over the volumes on the table, "Deadwood Dick; Billy the Kid; Dynamite at Deadwood Pass -."

"I picked up what I could from Brady's mercantile across the way," she said. "Since I'm out here soaking up the atmosphere, he's signed me up to do six volumes with a Wild West theme. Still written to appeal to the female market though. Minimum of three love scenes per volume."

Kate spoke up, "And four - count them, four - masterly etchings in glorious black and white depicting the heroes and heroines in dramatic situations."

Meg grinned at her, "Kate is doing my illustrations. Just like the good old days before she dwindled into matrimony and Montana." The girls exchanged a look and Kate laughed.

"In fact, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones -" said Kate, then corrected herself with an appealing smile, "Joshua, Thaddeus, we wanted to ask your advice on one or two matters."

Meg picked up the copy of 'Billy the Kid, Showdown at Coyote Creek.' and turned to a page marked with a folded down corner.

"It says here, his gun is tied down with a thin strip of rawhide. 'Tied down', just means -" she indicated Heyes' weapon, "Like that. Doesn't it?"

"Uh huh," said Heyes cautiously.

"Why do you do that? I mean I know it's supposed to make taking your gun out quicker… but how?"

Curry shifted in his seat, "It holds the holster in place, during a draw." Kid explained. "An' you adjust the position till it's in the natural place for your hand to reach and cock in one movement. If you practice - tends to end kinda low an' forward on the hip."

Meg frowned, "Would you show me?"

Heyes saw Kid torn between reluctance to demonstrate a fast draw and unwillingness to appear churlish in the ladies' eyes.

"Sure Meg," he said, standing up himself. "Course, I'm not claimin' to be fast like Billy the Kid. Him bein' accounted fastest gun in the west," he added, with the merest flick of his eye to catch Kid's chagrined expression.

"Oh no! Please do it slowly so we catch it," said Kate, pencil in hand.

"You're not sketchin' me, ma-am?"

"Only the angle of the gun - do you mind?"

"I don't mind that. Just can't bear having my likeness taken."

"You understand with them features, he's naturally kinda modest," put in Kid, earning a flash of return annoyance from Heyes.

Meg readied a pencil and notebook, "Off you go."

Heyes drew his gun, towards the unoccupied corner of the room. It was smooth, but Kid could see he'd slowed down to about a quarter of his usual speed.

Two pencils scribbled. One sketching lines of movement, one shorthand notes.

Heyes looked enquiringly at the ladies and seeing two smiles of thanks, sat down and picked up his glass.

Meg, put down her notebook and returned to another marked page in the dime novel.

"Later on, it talks about the sear of the gun having been filed, making Billy even more lethally quick." She looked up, "What does that mean?"

Kid leaned forward, "I think it means that some folk - wantin' an edge - create a 'hair trigger'."

Kid rose and laid his gun on the table before Meg. Rising from her desk, Kate came to join them. Kid squatted down to point at the weapon. Meg leaned forward and Kate knelt at Kid's side, sketchbook in hand to peer closely at whatever he was about to show them.

Kid, conscious of the close attention of both girls and of a stray curl of Kate's, nodding only inches from his fingers, began to explain.

"This catch holdin' the hammer is called a sear…."

Kate touched his hand to interrupt. Kid looked at her. She was smiling, warmly, at him. She held out a spare pencil.

"Could I possibly ask you to point with this?" Another friendly smile, as he took it. She tucked the stray curl behind her ear. "Thank you, Thaddeus, this is wonderful," she said.

As Kate leant forward, the curl escaped and Kid watched it brush her cheek, before bobbing again close to, but not touching his hand.

Concentrating hard on the gun, Kid continued, "This is the hammer. This catch holding it cocked, is called a sear. If you wanna give yourself a hair trigger, you file down the sear. See, that way - it takes less pull on the trigger to release the hammer."

He paused and glanced from Meg to Kate. Both nodded and gave him 'with you so far' smiles of encouragement.

Realising he was still looking at Kate, after she'd returned her attention to the gun; Kid cleared his throat and went on, "Now you can't see it, but inside the grip - " Kid rested his pencil end lightly on the grip "- is a spring. As well as filing down the sear, a man might grind that spring. Makes cocking your weapon smoother and so, faster."

Both girls leant in close to see the location of the invisible spring. The end of the nodding tendril brushed the fingers holding the pointing pencil. Kid withdrew his hand as if it had been scorched. Neither girl noticed, as their own pencils scribbled rapidly. Kid straightened himself up and stepped back.

Gruffly, he said, "Course this all has risks. 'Cause if you file the trigger too light, sudden jolt - you might just shoot through your own foot."

"That's why an experienced gun only loads five chambers," put in Heyes. "Tends to keep a spare twenty rolled up under the hammer."

"Do you do that?" Meg asked Kid, fascinated.

"Don't always have a twenty about me," said Kid with a wry grin at Heyes. "An' a nickel just isn't the same."

He picked up his gun from the table and returned it to his holster. Kate rose and refilled the partners' glasses, before returning to her desk.

Kid took another sip of whiskey; savouring how much better it tasted than saloon 'regular'.

"So who are you plannin' to have doin' this fast draw, Meg? A free-riding cowboy? Heroic Texas Ranger?"

She shook her head.

"No," she said. "The scenery may change, but I'm still on outlaws, sheriffs and jail breaks."

A wave of foreboding swept over Heyes, as Meg went on, "I'm working on - " she flicked back a page in her notes. "Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry."

Both partners kept poker faces, but their eyes took on a frozen glassy expression. Neither risked an exchanged glance. Grips tightened on the drinks clutched in their hands.

Interpreting the silence as non-recognition, Kate put in helpfully, "They rob banks."

"And sometimes trains," added Meg. She looked down at her book, "Hannibal Heyes opens safes."

"Sometimes with dynamite. But sometimes he just turns the tumbles," went on Kate.

"Tumblers," corrected Meg.

"Tumblers," agreed Kate. "Apparently they click. If you turn them right. And he's supposed to work out complicated plans. And Kid Curry takes his gun out of its holster really, really, quickly."

"A fast draw," translated Meg, to show she'd now mastered the correct terminology.

Heyes' and Curry's eyes moved from one speaker to the other in unison. Both women continued to smile at the partners with uncomplicated friendliness.

Heyes forced himself to sit back in his chair, cross his legs and relax.

He sipped his drink and with a politely interested smile said, "You know, I think I read about them. Can't believe ladies want to know about two ornery creatures like that."

"Oh, apparently lots of readers fantasise about being swept away in the rough, manly embrace of an outlaw. Living a life of unbridled passion on the run. Offering up the love of a good woman," said Meg.

Heyes resisted the temptation to ask if she had such a thing as a mailing list handy.

"Ridiculous isn't it?" put in Kate, shaking her head in disbelief.

Kid's shoulders drooped slightly in involuntary disappointment.

A brief silence fell. Schooled in the politeness of keeping pre-dinner chat flowing, Meg began again with, "I visited the Sheriff's office, on the way back from the mercantile. Deputy Baker fished out the wanted posters, so Kate could get started on the first illustration."

As this drew no response from her guests save for the return of a slightly glazed expression, Kate picked up the task of keeping the conversational ball in the air.

"Hannibal Heyes is your basic, 'tall, dark and handsome'."

"I'm going to give him a depth of expression in his brown brooding eyes that hints at a tragedy of lost love in his past. A certain indescribable melancholy will occasionally steal across his features, making the heroine yearn to reach the warm heart she knows still beats in his strongly muscled breast," clarified Meg, in a matter of fact tone.

Heyes considered this. It did not seem to materially increase his risk of being recognised, he took a relieved sip of whiskey.

Kate shot her friend an amused look.

"Curry has blond curls. He'll be boyishly appealing. Nice contrast," she said.

"His smile will light up his youthful face, crinkling his sparkling blue eyes in a way no woman could resist," expanded Meg. "When he throws back his head and laughs, sunlight catches the corn coloured hair, throwing out glints of gold. He will fling himself into the saddle with the easy grace natural to one of the perfectly formed athletes of ancient Greece."

Curry couldn't resist a grin of pleasure, "You got a real way with words, Meg."

The two girls exchanged a glance.

"I can reel off that stuff by the yard," said Meg. "It's coming up with six different plots that hang together just enough to keep them reading for 50,000 words that I get paid hard cash for."

Kate, who had continued to sketch at the large sheet mounted on her desk, put down her pencil.

"The first illustration's nearly roughed out if you want to look."

With a squeak of pleasure, Meg bounced over to stand behind her friend.

"Nice Hannibal Heyes," she said appreciatively. A frown wrinkled her brow as she continued to gaze at the picture, "Don't I recognise him from somewhere?"

Heyes felt his knuckles clench once again around his glass, until Meg blurted, "That's the college chaplain who used to give appallingly dull sermons on women's natural sphere."

"Ask yourself though," said Kate, leaning back to admire her own work. "Have you ever seen a man better sum up the phrase 'tall, dark and handsome'?"

Meg pursed her lips and shook her head. Kid Curry could not help grinning at the mingled relief and vexation stamped on his partner's face. Rising, he moved over to admire the sketch.

"Sure is one good lookin' fella you've drawn," he said reflectively. "But I never heard that larcenous rogue, Hannibal Heyes, is particularly easy on the eye."

Heyes too, moved over to view the illustration.

"I can see Heyes is crackin' a safe," he said. "But this curly haired guy - what's his name - what's he doin'? Seems to be just wavin' his gun at nothin'?"

"Don't worry," said Kate. "Once Meg comes up with a bit of plot, I'll draw in something for him to aim at."

Meg perked up, "He can shoot down the telegraph wires to prevent word from reaching the next town.

And when I do a train plot he can gallop up to the side of a runaway engine and with a single bullet push the brake into the on position, so it squeals to a halt inches from the lovely form of our heroine, Mary-Sue, who the villain has tied to the rails. Or he can shoot out six candles with six bullets plunging the room into darkness; allowing him to rescue Mary-Sue's limp unconscious body, safely cradled in his powerful arms, from the villain's leering henchmen. Or, from an incredible distance, his horse's hooves thundering across the ground, he shoots through the fuse of the dynamite just before it causes a cave in to trap her underground; facing lingering death as the rising waters float her cloud of auburn curls about her heart-shaped face and her dewy violet eyes slowly close forever."

Kid blinked, "Pretty fancy shootin'!" He mused for a moment, "Seems after doin' all that he'll get the girl. Can't see - that other fella - standin' a chance."

Heyes was gazing at Meg, impressed, as he had been at dinner on Monday, at her fluency.

"This Mary-Sue, seems to get herself in some pretty tight spots."

Meg grinned at him, "The plot is just a means to an end. I need to decide which man gets the heroine. Then at regular intervals she is pulled into his strong manly grasp. Her heart will pound within her soft bosom as she is crushed against the hard wall of his chest. Excitement floods through her yielding body. She would collapse save for the support offered by his steely arms."

As Meg drew breath, Kate took over, "With a firm, but gentle, hand he will take her chin and raise her face to his. His eyes will pierce into her very soul, as he gazes longingly at her, then lowers his mouth first tenderly, then insistently, upon hers."

Kate nodded at Meg, who without a break in the flow, continued, "His kiss will stun her senses, his caress awaken desires she can barely comprehend. Unable to resist, she will feel herself half swooning carried away on the tide of his mounting passion."

She stopped.

Kid closed his mouth, which had begun to gape. He swallowed.

"Go on," he urged hoarsely. "What's next?"

Meg and Kate exchanged a glance.

Meg cleared her throat, "Next is a row of dots. Then we move forward about two hours in the plot."...

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Two hours later Emerson was explaining to his guests the iniquitous conditions imposed by mine owners upon their employees.

"The company treats them as human machines. Nothing but strong arms and backs, put onto this earth to harvest ore for the stamping mills."

"Uh huh," said Kid.

Back in Kate's welcoming sitting room, the curtains were now drawn against the night. Oil lamps cast a rosy glow on his hostess lovely face and set lights winking from the tumbler in his hand. The Connors had supplied the best meal he had tasted in many long weeks; and kept his whiskey glass hospitably full. Kid felt listening to his host's flow of reforming zeal was a small price to pay. In fact, he felt a reluctant liking for the man and had shifted, just slightly, from his, "What did she ever see in him?" starting position.

"Life in the tunnels is hard, dangerous and monotonous," went on Emerson. "Miners labour amidst the reek of blasting powder, unclean bodies, rotten timber and human waste."

"Uh huh."

"As the cutting machines drill lower the temperature in the shaft rises. The men pour with sweat; and the deeper the shaft the greater the risk of collapse or flooding."

"Guess so," responded Heyes, taking his share of the conversational burden from Kid.

"Few miners have a stable domestic life to offer them respite. Most of the workforce is young, mobile, single."

"Transients, huh?" put in Kid, causing Heyes to choke on the sip of whiskey he was taking.

"Transients. The very word, Mr. Jones. I couldn't have put it better myself. Is it any wonder that these - transients - after labouring nine, or ten, or twelve hours in a man-made hell of dark, dirt, danger and degradation; straining every sinew to hew the cruel copper from the belly of the earth - "

Heyes began to appreciate what lay behind Emerson and Meg's friendship.

Emerson lost his thread and blinked at his wife.

"Is it any wonder…? " she prompted.

"Is it any wonder that, with no wives to provide the comforts of home, men squander their earnings and precious free time in the saloons? Turning for comfort to the hollow pleasures of drink, gambling and - " he glanced at the ladies before leaning forward and concluding in a low tone to his male guests, "- unfortunate women of a certain profession!"

Heyes clicked his tongue in disapproval; swallowing a laugh as he saw Meg and Kate hide indulgent smiles at Emerson's careful wording.

"Thing's were bad enough when Louis Hamilton was in charge. But now!" Emerson shook his head at the miners' plight, "Thing's are becoming intolerable since Carleton inherited. This latest ploy of his, to pay men with company credit - in my eyes the man is nothing more than a thief."

"Must say - didn't seem right," said Kid, "The labourer is worthy of his hire - isn't that what the good book says."

"The labourer is worthy of his hire. Indeed, he is Mr. Jones. That is the very sentiment I intend to convey in my next editorial - nay -" the Easterner swelled out his chest before continuing; "it will not be a mere editorial - that is too tame a word - I will publish a diatribe, a DIATRIBE, Mr. Jones against this great wrong being perpetrated in our community." Emerson nodded his head with determination, "I hope I'm a charitable man, Mr. Jones - but - this week, I intend to be ruthless. Oliver Carleton won't know what hit him!"

Kid couldn't help a wry grin at Emerson's belief that a man like Oliver Carleton would be floored by a piece in the local paper.

"Not too long, darling," put in Kate mildly. "Remember Meg or I have to edit it down to half a page."

"How come Carleton inherited from this fella, Hamilton?" asked Heyes quickly, seeing Emerson open his mouth to continue planning his next article. "He a relation?"

"Mmmm. Brother-in-law," said Emerson, again refilling the glasses.

"Strictly it's his wife - Lydia Hamilton, that was - who inherits her brother's mine. I think she was the only family he had," explained Kate.

"People say," said Emerson, "Hamilton thought the world of his younger sister, but never trusted Carleton as far as he could throw him. Thought marrying him was the biggest mistake Lydia ever made."

"Of course 'people will say' anything," said Kate, fairly. "But I do believe the whole capital is tied up in a trust for any children."

Heyes looked an enquiry. Meg spoke up, from the chair where she sat, her feet curled beneath her.

"Even though married women have, in theory, had some control of their own property for over twenty years, the reality is there is little the law will do, unaided, to stop a husband managing and disposing of it," she explained, her expression showing quite clearly what she thought of this state of affairs. "So, when a girl comes from a well-off family they might tie up at least part of her marriage settlement. She - and of course, her husband can spend the income - but can't touch the capital, " she continued.

"Carleton gets the revenues from the mine," put in Emerson. "But he can't sell. Not unless whoever Hamilton appointed as trustees for his sister agrees."

"It's common practice. Especially if you suspect a man to be a fortune-hunting wastrel," said Meg. Looking at Emerson, a teasing smile playing across her face, she went on. "Kate's step-mother was so disgusted when she accepted a penniless journalist, with - as she said - 'no family background at all'; she had all Kate's money tied up in an entail so tight that every other member of the human race is named to inherit before him." She took a sip of her coffee. "Except me, of course. Because I introduced them."

Kate smilingly shook her head, then twinkled up at her husband.

"Of course, I made sure he didn't find out until after the wedding. Other wise he'd have left me at the alter," she said.

"Too true!" exclaimed Emerson. "Can't cook, can't sew and bone idle. I strongly suspect you haven't so much as started the 'Man behind the Mine' retrospective I asked for." He was standing behind his wife's chair leaning over her. She smiled fondly up at him and held up a hand. He clasped it, bringing the palm briefly to his lips, before dropping a light kiss on the top of her head.

"What would a man want with you, if not your money?" he asked teasingly.

"Don't worry, Darling," she smiled, gently rubbing his hand against her cheek before releasing it, "Any day now I intend to run away and leave you. As soon as I save enough from the housekeeping for train fare."

Kid's eyes widened at Emerson's first words. Then he realised the banter echoed that between himself and Heyes. The gentle prodding was safe because each partner knew real affection lay behind the teasing, never doubting the other's loyalty.

Seeing the glow in Kate's eyes as she looked up at Emerson, Kid dropped his gaze. A pang for the chances he had forgone in choosing an outlaw's life gave him a sudden, hollow, lonely feeling. He became aware that Heyes was looking at him. Meeting his partner's eyes, Kid gave a tight little smile. Heyes might never settle. But Heyes knew what made Curry ache so for amnesty. However much Kid loved life on the trail with his partner; he also - now - yearned for this. Home, wife, looking forward with joy to the birth of a child.

Giving himself a mental shake, Kid realised Meg was speaking.

"…gross calumny!" she was saying, "I'll have you know Kate and I worked on 'The Man behind the Mine' this very morning! We put on our best bonnets and visited Mrs. Carleton to ask for background on her brother. 'Early years of the entrepreneur.' 'The boy that became the man.' That kind of thing."

"We explained it was a tribute piece, marking the anniversary of the day they struck copper. But she didn't want to talk about him. Nor about how she met Carleton," said Kate.

Meg bounced into a more upright position, "I never met such a monosyllabic woman. You'd think we were asking about some terrible secret," she exclaimed.

"Maybe she's just shy," excused Kate, kindly, "She was chatty enough when the maid brought in the baby."

"Oh yes!" said Meg, "The pair of you were like a mother's meeting! But we weren't there to hear about how much little Oliver weighed when he was born; and how she's sure he has his father's chin!"

"She certainly can't be drawn on anything to do with the past. Doesn't want to talk about Boston, nor her time in Chicago," agreed Kate, "I suppose from her point of view, it's none of our business. Never mind," Kate went on to Emerson, "Last week, I wired Jimmy back at the Boston Enquirer. He'll hunt through the archives and send on any background he finds on Hamilton or Carleton."

Emerson smiled at both girls.

"Lydia Carleton has never been sociable," he said. "At first everyone put it down to grief over her brother. After travelling so far to be at his sickbed, she arrived just too late. But that was four months ago. And it's not as if they'd seen each other often since her marriage. Carleton bought into the meat packing business and they'd lived in Chicago for years."

Kate's brow creased. "I feel sorry for the woman," she put in, "She has no friends. I sent my condolences on her brother's death and visited two or three times – but she never repaid the compliment. I did take a little gift when baby Oliver was born. She hardly ever comes into town – not even to church. She spends all day, every day, sitting in that great barracks of a house up on West Hill. And everyone knows her husband spends hardly any time there."

Suddenly they heard a visitor knock at the front door. Meg went out into the hallway to answer it.

Returning a moment later she said, "It's Mr. Carleton to see you, Emerson." She cast a worried look behind her; "Two other men are with him."

Sensing trouble, Heyes and Curry caught each others eye and moved quietly to a position outside the immediate line of vision of anyone entering the room.

Kate moved forward to receive the visitors casting a surprised look at her husband.

"Speak of the devil," she mouthed, then, "He's never called before. What can he want at this hour?"

Her husband responded with a puzzled shrug.

"Mrs. Connor, always a pleasure to see you, " declared the confident tones of Oliver Carleton striding in. He was followed by Joe and Caleb.

The visitor at once turned to Emerson, "I dare say you're surprised to see me. The thing is, I know you struggle to get that newspaper of yours to turn a decent profit. Now, I can see potential there - I could turn it round. So I'm making you an offer for the business. $4,000. You go back East with a nice little stake to set you up somewhere where folks are educated enough to appreciate your writing. I get me a nice little commercial venture."

"$4,000?" exclaimed Emerson. "That's very generous. The business can't be worth half that."

A smug smile settled on Carleton's face.

"I can afford to pay for what I want." he said.

"Very generous," repeated Emerson. "But I can't possibly accept. I'm determined to make a success of the paper."

"That's real disappointing," Carleton said, "But I'm a reasonable man. Suppose I say $8,000?" A hard look came into his eyes, "Think again. Move back east."

"I'm sorry," said Emerson firmly, "It is out of the question. I've no wish to be discourteous to any guest in my home, but I believe there's a moral obligation to print the truth about conditions at the mine and the unethical tactics you use to swell your profits."

Carleton smiled coldly at the Easterner. His eyes indicated his companions, "I brought a couple of my men along. Wondered if they could persuade you - friendly like - this place is too rough for a Boston raised greenhorn."

Joe looked uncomfortable at this.

But Caleb, eyes moving over Kate's body, added, "You must worry 'bout your wife. Kinda dangerous here for such a lovely lady." He turned to Emerson, hand resting noticeably on his holster.

Kid strode forward, eyes beginning to glower dangerously. Heyes followed, touching his partner's arm lightly with a restraining hand.

Heyes coughed and looked at Kate.

She responded at once, "I believe you already know Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones. They were kind enough to dine with us tonight."

Startled, Carleton looked appraisingly at the ex-outlaws. He felt the intangible air of suppressed danger. He met Heyes' gaze, receiving a bland smile, which did not reach the dark challenging eyes. Shifting his attention to Kid, he met a steely blue stare, which again sent a chill down his spine.

"Howdy boys," said Heyes to Joe and Caleb, "Looks like we've all called on Mrs. Connor on the same evening." His eyes flashed a warning, "Isn't that sociable?"

Caleb looked from him to the still glowering Kid and shifted his feet awkwardly. Clearly, the odds were no longer as expected.

Oliver Carleton took another long deliberating look at the partners. It was clear to Heyes and the Kid he had decided, for the present, discretion was the better part of valour. He smoothed the scowl, which marred his otherwise handsome face, with an effort.

"Bear my offer in mind," he said turning to leave. "Of course," he paused for effect, "I can't promise to hold the price."

Heyes noticed that Joe laid his hat on the sideboard as he left. Seconds later he returned ostensibly to retrieve it.

"Jones," he hissed, beckoning to Kid.

Kid frowned, but stepped closer.

"It ain't me that told ya," began Joe, "but Deke Simons' been trawlin' the saloons lookin' for ya. That's why he ain't with Carleton tonight. Take my advice - get outta town." He saw Kid's reaction to this and added, "If'n you're too damn ornery - leastways watch your back."

Kid met the man's eyes.

"Thanks," he said briefly.

The Connors blinked at each other as the last man left.

Turning to Heyes, Emerson spoke seriously, "Maybe I'm too suspicious - but I think he meant to threaten me."

As Kid rolled his eyes, Heyes looked at Emerson, eyes wide with assumed disbelief.

"You reckon?"

"The question is," said Kate astutely, "if he's ignored everything our paper said about him for the last four months - why suddenly threaten us now?"

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE **

**Thursday 14th June 1883**

Heyes spent the next day playing poker with off-shift miners who did not understand the odds of helping two pair.

Kid, feeling restless, preferred to spend a fine summer day outdoors. The ex-outlaws had purchased horses and gear for their stay in Butte, first agreeing with the horse-trader terms should they wish to resell. Curry told his partner he intended to ride out - do some thinking.

That evening, the pair were walking from their hotel, to the town's fanciest saloon. Across the street they saw Emerson, locking up the newspaper office, preparatory to returning home. Strolling over, they invited him to join them for a drink.

Emerson hesitated, tempted, but checking his watch anxiously, "I really shouldn't but - well - I don't suppose one would hurt - I'm sure Kate wouldn't mind - just for half an hour -" As he walked along, he said jokingly, "Do you thank heaven you're still free and single when you see me - a poor hen-pecked husband - worrying what the wife will say if I'm late for dinner?"

Heyes responded with a light laugh. But Curry realised his involuntary, "No," sounded too curt as soon as it left his mouth. The hint of a flush on his cheek, he strode ahead through the batwing doors.

Before all three glasses were filled, the partners became aware of a ripple of tension and a thinning of the crowd around them. Deke Simons had entered the saloon, Caleb following close behind. Simons swaggered up to the bar.

"Followed you in here, Connor - wanted a word," he said. His hooded eyes flicked toward Kid. It was unspoken - but the message was, "You too, Jones."

Emerson merely raised a polite eyebrow waiting for more.

"Mr. Carelton wants to know if you've reconsidered his offer?"

Emerson shook his head.

"No," he replied. Short but civil.

"He'll be real disappointed when I tell him. Anythin' I can say to change your mind?"

"I think it's unlikely," said Emerson.

Simons stared at the lanky Easterner. A beat. Then he held out his hand to Caleb, palm uppermost. Caleb laid his own gun on Simons' hand. Holding it by the barrel, Deke Simons placed the gun on the bar, beside Emerson.

"Know you don't carry a gun, Connor. So just puttin' that there. Case anythin' I say makes you feel like reachin'."

Heyes and Curry stiffened. Simons meant to provoke Emerson into giving him a tenable excuse to kill.

Emerson looked at the gun in front of him for a long moment, then slowly raised his eyes back to Simons.

"I don't think that's likely either," he said.

The partners had to give the man credit - his tone was still calm.

Deke Simons continued to stare at Emerson. The saloon clock ticked. Then, suddenly, Simons shifted his weight and pushed back his hat.

"Dare say you're right. Dare say you are," he said in a falsely affable tone with an underlying hint of menace, "After all - not as if I'm goin' to say anythin' a reasonable man could take offence at. Was goin' to say how much I admire you, Connor. I admire a man who knows his own limitations."

A beat.

Emerson met his eyes, waiting.

"I mean - you're a sensible man," went on Deke Simons, "You know a scrawny, skinny, Miss Nancy like you can't hope to satisfy that pretty wife of yourn. So when a coupla young bucks come sniffin' round - " Simons' eyes swept over the two ex-outlaws, "- do you object? No! You invite 'em round. Give 'em dinner. You stand here - lettin' em buy you whiskey."

Heyes felt Curry tense. He laid a light, restraining, hand on Kid's arm. With a tiny shake of the head, Heyes sent a silent message to his partner, "Don't let him push you."

Emerson was no longer meeting Simons' eye. He focused on a spot on the floor about ten yards away, his mouth clenched tight with misery at the tactics the gunslinger was using. Simons' paused, giving his intended victim a chance to respond.

Then he continued, "Course she's already spread her legs for Jones here. Caleb saw 'em today. Down at the river. Together. Pretty as a picture. Ain't that right, Caleb?"

Caleb shuffled his weight from foot to foot. He glanced at Kid, licked his lips nervously and said nothing.

Deke Simons' eyes flicked again to Kid, his secondary target, "Ain't that right, Jones?"

Heyes glanced at the flush on his partner's cheek. He realised Simons was telling that most dangerous kind of lie. One with a tiny grain of truth.

Receiving no answer, the hired gun went on, "We was both wonderin' - since she's started givin' it away - what's a fella gotta do to get in line?"

There was a smothered, dirty, snigger from one of the listening customers.

Simon's raised his voice, "Ain't you listenin' to me, Connor. Tellin' you your wife's a w----. Ain't you got nothin' to say to me?"

Emerson met the man's eyes for a beat.

"No," he said simply, neither raising nor lowering his voice. "Everyone here already knows you're a liar. I don't have to say it."

There was silence in the saloon. It was broken by Deke Simons' voice - now cold and menacing.

"Call me a liar again - I'll kill you where you stand whether you've the guts to reach for that gun or not."

To his horror, Heyes saw Emerson's mouth open ready to repeat the word and his partner tense to draw in the man's defence. He pressed his boot down on the Easterner's foot, caught his eye and flashed a warning - "Don't."

Emerson subsided.

Another beat.

Then with a sneer, Simons turned to the Kid.

"What about you, Jones. Feel like drawin'? Or weren't she worth it, spite of them invitin', $20 a trick, bordello eyes?"

Before Simons finished, Heyes began to laugh. Holding up his hands, open-palmed, to his shoulders, he walked toward the gunslinger. Shaking his head, he kept his voice light.

"Think you got the wrong idea about my partner, Mr. Simons. He's not the kinda man who fights over somethin' so unprofitable as high-falutin' notions about a lady's good name." Heyes reached Deke Simons, who like his boss, dismissed him as just Kid's smart-mouthed partner.

"He just isn't that kinda man," Heyes repeated.

The smile dropped from his face. His eyes became dark and dangerous.

"But I am!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, his knee slammed into Simons' groin. As the gunslinger doubled in agony, Heyes' punch to the gut knocked the breath from his body. A double-handed, chopping, blow to one temple knocked the man to the floor and the ex-outlaw's kick to the other knocked him out.

With his boot Heyes gave an exploratory rough nudge to the ribs to confirm Simons was unconscious. Then he rested his sole briefly on the man's chest to check he still breathed.

Looking up, he issued a silent challenge to Simons' companion. Caleb gaped from the still body on the floor, to Heyes warning eyes. Without recovering his gun, still lying on the bar, he turned and scurried out into the street.

Heyes strode to the bar. He did not look back. Without meeting the eyes of either Curry or Emerson, he drained his glass.

Then, to the wide-eyed barkeep, he said, "You've trash needs cleanin' off the floor."

The hum of excited conversation rose around the saloon. Two men took an arm each and bore the slumped form of Deke Simons away to the town Doc.

Kid put out a hand to pull Emerson away from Heyes.

"Leave him!" Kid snapped.

"But - "

"Leave him! It's me gotta thank him, not you. Knew if I had to draw - 'gainst a man earnin' $60 a day for bein' fast - mighta had no choice but to kill him. Give him a minute."

Kid turned the whiskey in his hand, but did not drink. Heyes talked his way out of trouble not because he was scared of a fight - but because he hated the ferocity it released from him. That final move - checking if the opponent was dead before walking away - was not done for effect. Heyes knew once he tapped the cold fury needed to win, clean and quick, he was capable of killing. Worse - he was capable of wanting to. Heyes had risked facing his violent shadow for one reason only. To save his partner from dragging the burden of another life taken. If Curry yearned for amnesty to settle; he knew Heyes' nightmare was that it might not come before the dangers the partners faced turned him from a potential to an actual killer.

Conscious of Kate's husband silent beside him, Curry twisted but did not raise his glass. Uncomfortably, without looking around, he said in a low voice, "What Simons said - I mean about the river - was nothin' - I don't want you to think - "

Fear that anything he said might make matters worse had held him silent during the gunslinger's prodding. The same embarrassment brought him to a halt now.

Emerson helped Kid out by completing his sentence.

"You don't want me to think my wife's been unfaithful with you." He took a calm sip of his drink, "I don't. I think this morning you met her coming out of the mercantile, got off your horse to say 'hello' and offered to walk her home. I think since it was a glorious day the pair of you - at her suggestion - strolled on as far as the river and sat for a while in broad daylight in full view of anyone who might go past on the main road. You believed - quite reasonably - that since we'd had what could be called a threatening visit the evening before, she might not feel comfortable walking alone - and were being a perfect gentleman."

Emerson took another sip of whiskey.

Obviously, husband and wife had met up at some time during the afternoon.

Kid gave an awkward smile, but something compelled him to carry on.

"She never gave me so much as a glance - I mean not in a way that might make a man think - "

"Thaddeus. - " Emerson gently tried to stop him.

"- And I wouldn't - wouldn't even think of -"

"Thaddeus -" Emerson tried again.

"- I mean - "

By this time, Heyes had had his minute. He turned back to his companions and listened to his partner flounder again to a stop. Heyes met Emerson's eyes and was not a little impressed at the understanding they held.

"Thaddeus - " Emerson paused, searching for the best way to express what he wanted to say. He remembered Kid's biblical quotation from the previous evening, "- when the patriarchs handed down the tenth commandment, I believe they meant to warn us against indulging in brooding, resentful, jealousy. I don't think they had in mind involuntary, fleeting, wistful, "if onlys", watching a woman skim stones off the water."

Kid mulled this over. Very slowly he relaxed.

"Know what I think Emerson? Think you've been holdin' out on us." Kid gave a wry smile, "That was too d--n accurate. No way are you a real newspaperman."

At that point, the barkeep approached, glass and towel in hand. With a nod he indicated a figure standing in the open doorway of a private back room.

"Mr. Lloyd," he said, "wonders if you can spare him a minute?"

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Chris Lloyd ushered the three men into the backroom. To their surprise, they saw Hal already seated at the table.

Lloyd offered them a seat, a drink - the good stuff - then took a chair.

"We saw what happened just now," he began. He looked intently at Emerson, "Carleton's hired gun tried to provoke you into a fight, Connor. Even if he'd managed to prod you into reaching - he risked the law calling it murder. So he must have been d--- well paid." Lloyd paused, then went on, "The question is - how did you offend Oliver Carleton so much he's willing to pay Simons the kind of money he'd need to kill and then disappear?"

"It isn't the first attempt," put in Heyes. "Yesterday, the man offered him $8,000 to get outta town."

Four pairs of eyes looked enquiringly at Emerson.

He shrugged, shook his head and then ventured, "I suppose my paper's been fairly scathing recently." He turned to McBride, "Carleton refuses to recognize the Miners Protective Association. I try to offer Hal here an outlet for his arguments. Perhaps it hasn't gone down too well. Perhaps Carleton thinks it'll stir up opposition to his methods."

Chris Lloyd gave a short bark of laughter.

Shaking his head, he said, "Look! If you and McBride believe the men hang on your prose week after week and don't turn straight to advertisements, personals and items for sale - that's your privilege. But, I don't think Oliver Carleton's decided to have you shot because you're about to raise the masses with a curtly chosen adjective!" Sitting forward, hands clasped on the table, Lloyd continued, "You're not the only one he's tried to buy off. Couple of times now he's offered for my fifteen percent - good offers. And he's made it pretty clear he'd expect me to leave if I accepted."

"Why don't you?" asked Heyes bluntly.

Lloyd swirled the whiskey in his glass for a long moment before replying.

"No two ways about it, I went into mining to make money. My partner and I were in the Black Hills to get rich. We came here to get richer." He sipped his drink, "But that's not all of it. It's my profession. I'm good at it. D--- good. I can judge where to sink a shaft - when to dig - when to blast." Lloyd grinned as if he knew what he was about to say was fanciful, "When I look at a piece of rock, Mr. Smith, the metal inside sings - come get me!"

Heyes thought of an unopened safe - and understood.

Lloyd sipped his drink and went on, "This is one of the largest copper strikes ever. Worked properly the seams will take decades to play out. We're sending thousands of tons back east - and that's just the beginning. Copper from Montana will help take electricity from one side of this country to the other. Europe too. Houses and streets lit by it. Factories powered by it. It'll change ordinary people's lives. I found that seam. I want to be part of that change." He looked at Emerson, "Guess you're surprised to see McBride and me sitting down together? After all - we're on what you might call, opposite sides of the fence."

Emerson shrugged and nodded.

"It's a case of - 'my enemy's enemy is my friend'. We've been talking over that business with the payroll yesterday." McBride explained. "Wondering what lay behind it?"

This was the equivalent of pressing Emerson's 'start' button.

"What lies behind it is a selfish drive to squeeze more profit from those with nothing but the labour of their backs to sell. To engender an even more absolute dependency on the employer for housing and other necessaries of life. To unfairly inflate the price of those necessaries for mere gain. A wanton disregard for…"

Hal McBride held up a hand to stop him, "No. Really behind it. What's causin' the way Carleton's behavin'?"

Lloyd coughed and said, "You see, I plead guilty to a selfish drive to squeeze profits out of that mine. Like I said, went into it to make money. But -"

McBride finished for him, "But you wouldn't pull a stunt like yesterday. Nor would Hamilton. We used to be able to discuss hours, terms. Didn't agree 'bout 'em. But worked somethin'." He took a sip of his drink, "An' the way he mines - just plain wrong."

Lloyd nodded, "One thing we didn't argue about. Hamilton left all the technical side to me. McBride there'll back me up. We might argue about wages. Not about air vents. Not about taking the time to shore up the walls. Not about using properly seasoned wood for the props." He frowned, "Dangerous enough without that."

Heyes gave both men an appraising look.

"So - you're agreed - Carleton's a skunk. But - this askin' what's behind it?" Heyes nodded toward Emerson. "Don't think I can say it like he did - but I got the gist. Isn't he just doin' it all to make more money."

"He won't!" exploded Lloyd. "Might make it faster for a month or two - but it's a fool's way. Won't make more - he'll make less."

McBride went on, "Refuse to discuss basic issues and you'll find gangs driven desperate, retaliatin' with rifles and dynamite….seen it before."

Lloyd nodded in agreement, "Told him a dozen times. I went to his place last night. Only second time I've been there - never invited - didn't get past the hall. All but threw me out. I saw his wife watch me leave from behind the curtain. Looked scared stiff."

McBride continued, "Skimpin' on the props; rushing the blast. Goin' to be a real bad accident soon. Not just someone losin' use of a hand or a foot - "

The partners winced at what constituted an accident unworthy to be considered 'real bad'.

"- but a real disaster," McBride finished.

"Won't cost him only lives," said Lloyd. "It costs us more to reopen shafts caved in, than it would to mine them right first time."

"See," McBride said, "It's as if he wants to make money real fast - then get out. Made us think he's got reason not to stay. Somethin' to hide."

Chris Lloyd looked at Emerson, "Then we see his hired gun try to run a journalist out of town. Wondered if you'd found something out?"

Emerson furrowed his brow, but shook his head.

"Have you been asking around about something? Researching anything? Wiring out questions?"

The newspaperman again pondered hard, "I don't recall anything. Nothing unusual."

Lloyd sighed, disappointed, "If anything does occur to you - will you let me know?"

Emerson glanced at his friend Hal McBride, then said, "I'll do that Mr. Lloyd."

McBride gave him a serious look, "Watch your back."

Emerson rose.

With a smile he said, "If I don't leave now Carleton won't have to hire anyone else to kill me - Kate will take care of it. Goodnight Mr. Lloyd. Hal, Joshua, Thaddeus."

They watched him leave.

Chris Lloyd spoke, "Mister Smith, Mister Jones - I liked the way you handled yourselves out there. Liked the way McBride here says you handled things yesterday."

The partners glanced at each other and waited for more.

Lloyd continued, "Hear you turned down an offer to work for Carleton. Would you consider an offer from me? For a 'reputable security job'."

"Need to know what it is before we can consider it," said Heyes blandly.

"I've 400 tons of copper to be transported to Helena, then East, leaving next week. It'll need guards."

Heyes smiled, "Sounds reputable. What's it pay?"

Lloyd mentioned a rate. A good one.

The ex-outlaws held a silent conversation.

"Expectin' any extras for that, Mr. Lloyd?" asked Curry.

"Just one - I don't think you'll object."

Curry raised his eyebrow enquiringly.

It was Hal McBride that answered, "Watch Emerson Connor's back. Case he forgets."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX **

**Early hours - Friday 15th June 1883**

Heyes and Curry returned to their hotel sometime after midnight. Before they had taken off their boots a shout from the street brought them to the window.

"Fire!"

"At the newspaper office - fire!"

The partners rushed out into the night, running towards the office. Smoke billowed from beneath the closed door and behind the dark windows bright flames licked the glass, guttering shafts of light and shadow into the street. Townsfolk were beginning to stumble out, rubbing the effects of sleep or whiskey from their eyes. Deputy Baker had emerged from the Sheriff's office and begun to organise a bucket line from the standpipe.

Suddenly Heyes heard a shrill shriek. Turning, he saw two running figures coming from the direction of the Connor house. Way in front, sprinting like a heavily shod hare in the boots she'd dragged on beneath her nightdress, was Meg. Kate, heavier and not so used to running, lagged behind. The partners saw her stumble flat into the rough dust of the street, before clumsily pulling herself back upright.

Heyes could not catch what Meg was screaming. Then as she drew close words reached him.

"….. In there. Emerson. Came back….working late … setting racks…..he's in there…."

To his horror she flew past him. She meant to rush headlong inside. Heyes caught her bodily around the waist, swung her off her feet and thrust her into Curry's arms, where she kicked frantically to be set down.

"Hold her. I'll go."

Heyes plucked from Meg the shawl she had caught up to wrap round herself. Dunking it swiftly in a trough of water, he swathed it around head and shoulders, swung open the door releasing a wave of searing heat and dropping low, plunged into the flames.

Voices called after him.

"Come back. Too hot."

"Roof's goin' to come in."

"You'll be killed."

Curry shook the hysterical Meg hard. And again.

"Get a hold of yourself," he yelled over the hubbub, his voice harsh to jolt her, "If I put you down - you goin' to stay put?"

Meg took a huge sobbing gulp, trying her best to regain some self-control. She nodded and found herself dumped unceremoniously in the dirt.

Curry stripped off his jacket, soaking it in the trough. Holding it over his head he braced himself, then dipping down, went into the heat after his partner.

The smoke almost blinded him and choked his throat. He crawled just a foot or so along the floor. A clutching hand caught his arm. Heyes! Heyes had dragged the deadweight of Emerson's body this far, he gestured desperately for his partner to take it. Curry rose to his knees and swung the man's body round his shoulders. Taking care not to breathe, not to inhale, he squeezed shut his eyes, staggered to his feet and plunged back out to the street. He set down the body on the boardwalk, far enough to be out of further danger from the fire and away from the bucket line. The town doctor, pants crookedly pulled over his nightshirt, was already scurrying toward him. Curry turned to go back for Heyes, but to his relief saw his partner wriggle out of the door. He was on his belly to keep below the smoke, dragging himself awkwardly forward on his elbows, but he was safe.

Heyes pulled himself half upright and began to blindly stumble down the side of the street. His body jerked painfully as he was racked by a fit of coughing.

Meg ran up to him.

"Joshua. You got him out. You and Thaddeus. It's the bravest thing I ever saw. Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Heyes was still doubled over, holding onto a rail with both hands. He was shaking his head at Meg. As the coughing turned to a rasping retching in his scorched throat he tried to push her away. Too late. With a final heave he brought up the mess of smoke, smuts and ash he'd breathed in and swallowed in the fire. It spattered to the floor - in a pool of bile, stale whiskey and half digested food and splashed up over Meg's already mud stained nightdress.

Heyes closed his streaming eyes in pain and embarrassment as he continued to retch dryly. Meg did not even recoil. She crouched down and held his head till the worst of the paroxysm was over. Then, with a corner of the wet shawl still wrapped round him, she wiped the saliva from his chin. Dragging his arm round her shoulders, she helped him over to the standpipe to swill out his mouth and ease his throat with a long drink of cold water.

This done Heyes found a quiet spot and sat on the boardwalk. Meg plumped down beside him.

His breath returning to normal he rasped, "Sorry Meg."

Without looking up from the floor, he went on, "Don't suppose Hannibal Heyes ever threw up over Mary-Sue, even if he carried her out of a dozen burning buildings?"

"That's because my Hannibal Heyes is fiction. A silly made-up cog to turn an even sillier plot. You're real, Joshua. I think you're a hero."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Meanwhile Kid Curry stayed by the unconscious Emerson. Kate joined him, still gasping from her run and from the agonised sobs shaking her. She saw a dark stain on Curry's shirt. Terrified she touched the back of her husband's head and drew her hand away, wet with blood. Unable to catch enough breath to speak, she held up her palm to show the doctor, now hurrying up to the injured man.

"Don't lift him again. Keep him flat," the doctor instructed. Then to two townsfolk waiting to help, "Fetch the stretcher from the surgery - we'll get him back on that." He laid his ear to Emerson's chest; gingerly touched the edge of the head wound and pulled back an eyelid, "Breathed in a lot of smoke and a real nasty gash." He shook his head, "Have to see. Get him home. Get some light."

Kid looked down at Kate, kneeling in the dirt. She did not have any unnatural ability to cry prettily. Her skin was mottled with red patches, her eyes puffy, her nose pink, swollen and damp, her mouth contorted out of shape. One gleaming dark hank of hair trailed its curling end in a puddle. Curry clenched his fist so tight to stop himself reaching down to tuck it back over her shoulder that his nails cut into the flesh. Her distress caught at his throat more than the smoke.

Kate was feeling fruitlessly at the sleeves of her nightdress. Giving up she wiped her nose with her hand. Since her fall had sprawled her forward into the dust, this left streaks of wet and dirt across her face. Kid felt in his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. He pushed it into her hand. Without looking up, she took it, blew her nose hard and mopped herself up as best she could. Taking deep, deep, breaths - Kate pulled herself together. The blotches on her face faded from crimson, to rose, to blush. As the stretcher was lifted, she stood up beside it.

Watching her move away, Kid noticed her limp with every step. Looking down he saw one foot shod in inadequate soft velvet and one naked and muddy. Dashing out of the house, Kate had lost a slipper in her run through the dirt and cruelly sharp stones, which made up the surface of the street. Kid stepped forward and caught her up in his arms. Holding her awkwardly low, so her weight pulled painfully at the muscles under his arms, he ensured she could continue to hold her husband's lifeless hand between both of hers. With a crab-like, sideways step, Kid carried her silently along the slow careful walk home.

Reaching the house, he set her down in the hall. Kid stood and watched Kate walk upstairs behind the stretcher. She did not look back. Kid Curry turned on his heel and went back down the street to join the bucket line as it extinguished the last of the fire and damped down the surrounding buildings.

oooOOOOOOOooo---

Once the risk of a surviving spark restarting the conflagration passed, most townsfolk dispersed back to their beds. At this point, Heyes saw something he only remembered happening once before. His partner, the notorious outlaw, Kid Curry, walked slam bang up to the town Sheriff, deep in conversation with one of his deputies and tapped him firmly on the shoulder. Swallowing down a fresh wave of nausea, this time the familiar sort brought on by proximity to star shaped badges, Heyes walked over to hear what Kid was saying. Meg, damp with both sweat and water splashes, from the heaving of bucket after bucket, trotted after him.

"…. saying that fire wasn't no accident! Askin' - what are you goin' to do about it?"

Heyes heard his partner finish.

The Sheriff gave Kid a long appraising look.

Heyes was surprised to hear no hostility, only genuine - though brusque - enquiry, in his tone when he replied, "Got anythin' to back that up, fella?"

Kid opened his mouth to reply. Closed it again. Scowled with frustration.

Then said, "No! But it's true!"

The Sheriff sucked in his breath, "Hot weather - everythin' dry as tinder. Lotta paper about in there - oil on the machines - burn real easy. Man was tappin' in letter sets - metal on metal. Only takes a spark."

"Man wasn't overcome by the smoke!" exploded Curry again. "The back of his head's stove in - someone knocked him out."

Meg gasped in distress.

The Sheriff again gave Kid a long look.

"Hafta talk to the Doc 'bout that. But seems he coulda passed out - cracked his skull 'gainst the press on the way down."

"You don't believe that," said Heyes quietly.

"Need me a reason 'fore I believe anythin' else." A beat. "Official like."

The Sheriff's eyes met those of Heyes. They understood one another.

Kid was still pushing.

"Suppose you heard - that snake Carleton sent a hired gun to kill him? Tryin' to tell me this is a co-incidence?"

"What?" cried Meg, "Who tried to kill him? What happened?"

The Sheriff answered Kid carefully, "Heard 'bout the trouble with Deke Simons earlier. Don't have me evidence he was sent by anyone. Do you?"

The silence was answer enough.

"Can't be Simons set the fire -" the Sheriff glanced at Heyes, "- hear he ain't stood up agin, yet! And Carleton left town for the smelting works in Anaconda today. Not back till Monday."

Meg was tugging at Heyes' sleeve.

"Oliver Carleton sent someone to kill Emerson? He never told us. Why? What happened? Why would anyone want to hurt Emerson? It doesn't make any sense. Why would Mr. Carleton want Emerson out of the way?"

The Sheriff looked at the little figure of Meg, jigging from foot to foot as she shook Heyes arm.

"Now that, ma-am - that - is a very good question." He gazed at the two ex-outlaws, "Either of you two boys got an answer?"

Heyes met his eyes and shook his head.

The Sheriff sniffed, "That case - " he turned - "Baker - see Miss Spencer safe home. An', " he looked intently at his Deputy, "- stay an' watch the house. Make sure nothin' disturbs the ladies for the rest of the night. I'll send Zeb Daly out to relieve you come mornin'."

As Meg walked away, the Sheriff looked again at the partners.

"Need me a real good reason 'fore I could question a man as powerful as Mr. Carleton. Sure you understand. Don't need no reason just to change where I post deputies to watch for trouble - casual like."

Kid still scowled, but Heyes gave the man a nod of understanding.

The Sheriff shifted his feet, "You two fellas both did real well tonight."

The partners did not respond. The Sheriff looked at Kid, "Ain't you the one took Deke Simons' gun? Must be pretty fast."

A beat.

Then Kid said, "Just lucky. He weren't expectin' it - couldn't do it twice."

"Payroll guards, huh?" the Sheriff asked.

"Uh huh," in unison.

"Smith 'n' Jones?" a hint of cynicism in the Sheriff's voice.

"Uh huh."

"Stayin' long?"

"Not long. Guardin' the next shipment out," said Heyes.

"Comin' back?"

"No reason to."

"That case - doubt I'll have time to get to know much more 'bout you two," said the Sheriff.

A beat. The ex-outlaws did not risk exchanging a glance.

"Like I say. You two boys did real well tonight. An' anyone gets one over Deke Simons - fine by me." He gave them a final appraising look before turning to leave.

The unspoken message was clear.

"I don't wanna know - don't do anything makes me have to find out!"


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN **

**Friday 15th June 1883**

Heyes and Curry waited till mid morning before calling to ask after Emerson.

"Doctor Bell stitched up the gash - and said there's bound to be a concussion - but he thinks the skull has no actual fracture," Meg told them.

"He come round at all?" asked Kid.

"For a few moments this morning."

"He see who hit him?" said Kid, bluntly.

She looked at Kid, accepting the implication in the question. Then she shook her head.

"No and the Doctor says we're not to ask. Not yet anyway. Even if he comes round again, he shouldn't try to remember." She drew in a deep breath, "But he did say - all things considered - we're to hope for a full recovery."

Meg led the partners into the sitting room.

"I've been doing some hard thinking about the sinister secrets in Oliver Carleton's past," she said, conspiratorially.

Heyes blinked, "What secrets?"

"I don't know," Meg said, adding reasonably, "They wouldn't be secrets if I knew. But Carleton obviously thought Emerson was about to find out. So he must have something to hide." She narrowed her eyes, "I should try and find out what it is. Do some real investigative journalism. After all - you could say it's my professional duty."

Kid spoke up sternly, "Meg - don't go anywhere near Oliver Carleton."

Meg smiled but said nothing.

Heyes frowned at her, "Thaddeus is right. The man's dangerous. Don't go interferin'."

She looked back at him with the same bland smile.

"Are you hearin' us?" asked Kid.

"Of course I am hearing you, Thaddeus. You're standing less than four feet away."

Heyes tried again, "Are you goin' to stay away from Carleton?"

She thought carefully for several moments before answering.

"Yes," she said.

Heyes realised his question had not covered all bases.

"An' you won't go pryin' around, tryin' to find if he's hiding somethin'," he continued.

She gazed back at him.

"How can I do that, Joshua, if I stay away?" she asked with eyes guilelessly wide. Before Heyes could reply, Meg moved quickly to the door.

"I'll tell Kate who's called," she said. "I know she'll want to see you." As she turned the door handle, she paused as if struck by a sudden thought. "I don't think you should frighten Kate by suggesting someone deliberately tried to kill Emerson. You don't want her to worry more than she has to, do you? I think we should talk about something else."

"Sure. Sure Meg," said Kid, concerned.

Heyes looked long and hard at Meg. She met his eyes with bland innocence.

"Diversionary tactics," thought Heyes.

Two or three minutes passed.

"Plenty of time to brief Kate," reflected Heyes. Then he gave himself a mental shake - perhaps he was too suspicious.

The partners heard footsteps coming downstairs. Kate swept into the room.

"I'm so pleased you're here. I wanted to see you so much," she beamed. "I can't tell you how grateful I am. You were both so brave. The Doctor says another five minutes in that smoke would have killed him." Her eyes glowed from one to the other, "How can I ever repay you?"

Heyes gave her a self-deprecating shrug and a charming, dimpled, "It was nothing." smile.

"And you were so very kind, Thaddeus. I never even said - 'thank you'."

Kid hunched one shoulder.

"Was nothin'," he said gruffly.

"This is yours," Kate said. She held out his handkerchief, washed and neatly ironed. Kid took it and looked at it lying in his palm. "I washed it with my own soap without thinking," Kate apologised. "So I'm afraid it smells of lavender. But that'll soon wear off."

"It'd better. Cause Thaddeus usually tends to favour smellin' of honeysuckle," said Heyes, earning a frown from his partner, as the handkerchief was tucked - carefully - away in an inside pocket.

They sat down, Meg poured coffee.

Kid, conscious of his instructions to speak about 'something else', cleared his throat and asked, "How's the book coming, Meg? Mary-Sue made her mind up yet?"

Meg pursed her lips thoughtfully, "At the moment she's drawn to Kid Curry. But that's only because I've already done two really good heroic scenes for him."

Kid Curry gave her a, "Go on -" look.

Meg went on, "He's overcome the villain's sharp-shooting henchmen with an incredible display of nerve and skill. Surrounded by four sneering opponents - he draws - so fast the human eye sees nothing but a blur. Kid shoots off each holster. Then with his final bullet - he releases the knot suspending the trembling Mary-Sue from the rafters of the abandoned barn in which she is held. Leaping like a gazelle, Kid catches her into the safety of his arms before she hits the floor. Setting her gently down, with a caress to her damask cheek, he turns and renders each of the approaching heavies unconscious with a powerful blow." Meg smiled at the real Kid Curry, "I was going to have an extra henchman, but I remembered what you told me about only loading five chambers. That was useful you see - because otherwise he'd have shot six bullets."

"Yeah - you wouldn't want the folk readin' it getting all distracted. Thinkin' - that'd never happen - over a little detail like that," said Heyes.

Meg grinned at this, acknowledging a hit.

"That's just Kid's warm up scene," she said, "Because I need a fast draw somewhere. His big scene comes at the cave in - in the gold mine." She smiled happily, "Boulders and rocks fall into the mouth of the shaft - strong men flee in terror. But Kid is fearless. He darts forward - ignoring the warning cries around him. He disappears into the inky black maw of the shaft.

Time passes.

He must be dead!

But no!

Suddenly - out of the billowing dust and rubble - strides the heroic figure of Kid Curry. His jaw is set in a determined line. His blue eyes flash. His broad shoulders and narrow hips are silhouetted against the sky.

On and on he strides, carrying the limp but lovely form of Mary-Sue. Reaching a soft bank - strewn with daisies - Kid lays her down.

The cave in has torn the bodice from her creamy white shoulders, exposing curves so exquisite they would drive any man to distraction. Kid averts his chivalrous gaze. With a tenderly respectful hand he gently draws the silken covering back across the yet more silken flesh."

Kate spoke up, "We decided that Kid Curry is always very chivalrous." She screwed up her face in an effort to quote her friend's words correctly. "No woman need ever fear in the company of pure-hearted Kid Curry. Never a word passed his lips, nor a glance went forth from his boyish blue eyes, nor did a thought cross his mind, which could raise a blush in the most modest of maidens."

Kid tipped his head on one side and considered this, frowningly.

Then with a satisfied smile, he said, "Nice."

Meg nodded, "We thought so. And having him very pure and clean living - it made a good contrast with Hannibal Heyes."

Heyes, who had been taking a sip of coffee, choked.

"Hannibal Heyes has a murky past," explained Kate.

"Figures," said Kid.

"You see, when his wife died - "began Meg.

"His wife?" said Heyes.

"Mmm," Meg filled in the blanks, "His child bride. He married her on his eighteenth birthday. She was just sixteen. They were both -" Meg paused, choosing her words carefully, "They were both spotless - like Romeo and Juliet."

"Uh huh."

"They spent only a year together. But it was a year in which every hour of every day was filled with the breathless bliss of perfect love."

"Uh huh."

"Then she died," said Meg bluntly. "Tragically. That's what causes the melancholy to steal across his handsome face."

Kate took up the sad tale.

"Hannibal, made bitter by the cruelty of fate - turned to crime. AND to the hollow, meaningless, pleasures of dissipation, vice and debauchery." She sipped her coffee. "He is besmirched," she concluded, sadly.

Kid clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Meg hastened to reassure him, "He isn't debauched now! The readers wouldn't like that. Now he yearns to be washed clean by the love of a good woman. But - when he gazes into Mary-Sue's pure eyes and considers how stainless a life she has led - he is struck dumb. How can he offer her an outlaw's heart - tarnished by sin?"

Kid shook his head, "Certainly sounds like he oughta do the decent thing - step aside for the better man."

Meg frowned. "Maybe," she said doubtfully. "I'll do a couple of heroic scenes for Hannibal - then decide." She sipped her coffee, "I think Mary-Sue needs to be drawn to his darker, more-complex, nature. I want her to yearn to draw him to her bosom, nurse the scars of his broken-heart and help him turn away from vice forever. Then she will remember the simple, youthful honesty shining from Curry's blue eyes - and be torn."

"Why don't you just write in another heroine?" asked Kate practically. "She'd only need a different name and hair colour. She could be tall and finely formed, rather than elfin and slender."

Meg shook her head decidedly.

"Differentiating a second heroine isn't the problem," she explained, "The problem is the villain. He already has a full time day job grinding the noses of poor but honest mineworkers. It's all he can do to find time to repeatedly kidnap Mary-Sue - the last thing I need is another sappy girl who needs roping in front of every oncoming train."

Kate sipped her coffee and spoke up, "I don't mean to be critical, but the villain is already a problem. If he just left Mary-Sue alone and stopped briefing sneering henchmen, no-one would suspect him of a thing."

Meg gave her friend a rueful glance.

"That -" she said, "- is only too depressingly true. But if the villain did the sensible thing - sat tight and kept his mouth shut - the plot would immediately grind to a halt. I think we have to accept his under-motivated persecution as a convention of the genre."

She sprang up, saying, "Anyway - back to Hannibal. You remember my publisher sent me some background material?" She fetched a pile of papers from the desk by the window, "These are accounts of safe crackings. Hannibal's warm up scene will be cracking a safe in a bank vault. Not to steal anything of course - to recover evidence that the villain has cheated Mary-Sue out of her rightful inheritance. The gold mine really belongs to her."

"I've nearly finished the illustration," said Kate. "I just need a good look at a safe."

"There'd be a top of the range safe in the offices, out at the mine." said Meg.

"Brooker 404," confirmed Heyes, adding instinctively, "1880 model - has the upgrade on the sequencing."

"Oh," said Kate, "And I know Mr. Carleton has a safe in his study out at West Hill. Mr. McBride told me."

"No!" said Kid firmly.

He was met with two blandly innocent faces.

"No - what, Thaddeus?" asked Meg, wide-eyed.

"Just no. There's a safe in the hotel where Joshua and I are stayin'. Sure they'd let you make a sketch of that, ma-am."

"Is it up-to-date?" asked Meg suspiciously.

"Ordinary Magna-Lock - 'bout nine years old," said Heyes. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not - not really. Whatever Kate draws I can still write that the most ingenious engineers in the world cannot devise a safe capable of defeating the labyrinthine mind of Hannibal Heyes."

"The what mind, Meg?" asked Kid.

"Labyrinthine - twisted, tortuous, winding - like a maze," translated Kate.

"Uh huh," said Kid looking at his partner and committing it to memory for future use. "Figures."

"Because actually - I mean even in real life - Hannibal Heyes must be very clever," explained Meg. She tapped the paper lying uppermost on her background material, "This is an account of how he broke into a Pierce and Hamilton 78 in the Merchant's Bank at Denver."

Heyes set down his cup very carefully, to avoid it rattling in the saucer. He sat back and looked at Meg with mild quizzical interest.

"Uh huh?" he managed.

Meg went on cautiously, "My publisher has a friend, who knows a lawman, who worked on the case. Of course I can't use it. He only sent it to stimulate ideas - you know, colour. He asked me to be discrete. So I'd better not tell you how it was done." She looked back down at the account. A thought struck her. She looked eagerly from Heyes to Kid, "Unless you two already know - being experts in security?"

Heyes and Kid shifted in their seats and recrossed their legs in unison.

Heyes drew in a breath and answered her warily, "We mighta heard somethin' Meg. But your publisher's right - best to be discrete."

She nodded rather regretfully, then went on, "In any case - it's no use for the novel. Far too complicated. Hannibal will just turn tumblers." Meg settled herself once more to composition.

"Mary-Sue will watch him. She will see his powerful mind at work. Beads of sweat bedew his brow - furrowed with the concentration required for his task.

Her glance will fall to his skilled hands - the muscles dancing beneath taut, tanned skin.

How can fingers so steely strong be capable of a touch so feather-light, so sensitive?

She will watch Hannibal stoke the dial. Unbidden thoughts of the same fingers brushing across her delicate skin will cause a flush to mount her rose-leaf cheek."

With a satisfied smile, Heyes laced his hands together. He stretched them out in front of him, flexing back the joints.

"Nice."

Kid rolled his eyes.

"And for Hannibal's big scene -" went on Meg, turning to Kate, "- I will be doing the usual peeling off the shirt by the lake routine. You can either draw him poised at the edge of the water, finely sculptured and sinewy - tensed ready to dive. Or - better - he can be striding out of the lake, water streaming from his shimmering skin, releasing a cascade of crystal droplets as he tosses back his glistening dark hair."

"Why is - what's his name - divin' into a lake?" asked Kid.

Meg looked at him surprised. Surely it was obvious.

"If he doesn't dive into a lake - how can Kate draw him with his shirt off and soaking wet?"

"Can't he just take a bath?" said Kid.

"What on earth would be heroic about that?" asked Meg, reasonably. "Besides - maidenly Mary-Sue is hardly going to stand there and watch whilst he climbs into a bath."

"Can't argue with that, Thaddeus," said Heyes.

"I think what Thaddeus means, Meg," said Kate, smiling kindly at Kid, "is what is Hannibal's plot motivation?"

"Oh! The villain has wrapped documents revealing his sinister secrets in oilskin, secured in a watertight metal box, fastened with locks of Gordian complexity. He has this impenetrable strong box chained to the bottom of the lake. You know - shades of Rosanna Spearman in 'The Moonstone'."

"Why?" asked Kid. "I mean why chain it to the bottom of a lake?"

Meg gave an impatient sigh, but before she could reply, Heyes spoke up, "If the villain didn't hide the impenetrable strongbox at the bottom of a lake what reason would Hannibal have for divin' into the water and cracking a lock of - Gordian -?" He checked the word with Meg. She nodded. "- Gordian complexity? Keep up, Thaddeus," finished Heyes, winning an appreciative grin from Meg.

"Can he see to work, underwater?" asked Kid.

"His fingertips are so incredibly sensitive - he doesn't need to use his eyes," supplied Meg, folding her arms with determination and staring back at Kid.

"Don't he need to breath?" pursued Kid.

"His steely strength, coupled with his resolve to help lovely Mary-Sue, render his lung capacity beyond that of ordinary mortals," said Meg firmly.

Kid gave it up. Seeing him surrender, Meg was happy enough to make a concession of her own.

"Of course it's all nonsense. If he had any sense the villain would just keep his sinister secrets locked in his own safe and hire guards."

She paused. A thoughtful expression came over her face. Heyes watched her suspiciously. She noticed him looking and gave him another bland smile.

Kate spoke up, "You see Thaddeus, Meg has to make the hero marvellous, so the heroine can gaze at him and think things like;

'He is unlike any other man I ever met' -"

"Naturally, since he can breath under water," interrupted Meg.

"Or - 'I am not worthy of him' - " continued Kate.

"Which is true - because she has the brain and backbone of a lettuce," smiled Meg.

"Or - 'could any woman ask for more from a man?'" went on Kate.

"Which shows the heroine is a fool - because I can thing of a whole list of things more to ask for from a man." Meg looked at Kate, "I mean - they're all very well - but I'm sure your wish list didn't comprise of diving and being able to pick locks - did it?"

Kate smiled and with a rather wistful look towards the door leading to the stairs, shook her head.

"Neither does mine," agreed Meg, standing to pour herself a second cup of coffee.

There was a brief silence. It was broken by Heyes.

"What's on your wish list, Meg?"

Kid shot his partner a sharp look. Heyes' voice had lost the teasing tone he'd used when speaking about Meg's novel.

Meg sipped her coffee and moved to stare out of the window. Her brow puckered.

"A respectful courtship," she offered, "Followed by a sensibly phrased, non-ambiguous, proposal of marriage."

"Done properly, down on one knee," put in Kate.

"Someone who truly cares about making me happy," said Meg.

"Someone who is interested in your opinions - not just the way you look," went on Kate.

"Well - to be fair, I don't have to worry about that," said Meg regretfully, before continuing, "Someone who treats you as an equal partner."

"Honesty. Moral fibre. No silly jealous game playing," contributed Kate.

"Lifelong mutual fidelity," sighed Meg.

Kate nodded, then added; "Now before I met Emerson," she smiled, "I also demanded ability to make good coffee. But I compromised on that one."

Meg laughingly shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

"I could never compromise on that. Good coffee has to be a given."

"Quite a list, Meg," said Heyes, quietly.

She looked round from the window and grinned at him.

"Yes. I noticed back in Boston I never exactly had to force my way through a milling throng of eager, well-qualified, candidates."

Kate stood up.

"If you will excuse me - I think I should go back upstairs," she said. She pressed the hands of each partner in turn, "Will we see you again, tomorrow? Come for lunch if you're free."

"Sure, Kate," said Heyes. "'Sides - we need Meg to tell us how Hannibal - an' that other fella - foil the villain and get Mary-Sue her gold mine back. Got twenty four hours to work it out - should be more'n time enough."

Kate smiled at this and moved to the door.

Meg called after her.

"Oh, I forgot to say, Doctor Bell said Mrs. Bell will come and sit with Emerson for an hour or so this afternoon. I'm under strict orders to make sure you have fresh air and exercise."

"Goin' out?" said a worried Kid.

"That's where they keep the fresh air," shot back Meg - deadpan - but with a sideways, laughing, glance at Heyes.

"Someone should go with you," Kid persisted. Then, remembering Meg's request 'not to worry Kate', he stopped.

"I think someone will go with us whether we like it or not," Kate said, "Earlier, Meg fetched more linen for bandages from Brady's mercantile. A Deputy Sheriff followed her. Another has been trying to melt into the background across from the house, all morning."

Kate smiled reassuringly at Kid.

Meg then made him an offer.

"If it makes you happy, Thaddeus, I promise that when Kate takes her regulation hour of fresh air for ladies with child, we'll put whichever lawman is discretely watching us, out of his misery. We'll just hand over the reins and ask him to drive."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT 

That night, the partners, deciding to avoid the venue of last night's altercation, patronised the second fanciest saloon in town. Kid Curry, his mind clearly elsewhere, left after a couple of beers, muttering something about cleaning his gun. Heyes let him go. If Kid needed to watch Deputy Baker watch the Connor house - so be it. Heyes thought as Carleton had left town the day before - presumably to be absent from the scene of any pre-arranged 'incidents' - he was probably not yet even aware that neither primary, nor back-up, plan had removed Emerson. In Heyes' opinion, they had at least twenty-four hours before they had to fear further trouble.

With this in mind, the ex-outlaw found himself a friendly poker game and prepared to relax. Most of the players were young off-shift miners. Mr. Brady from the mercantile also took a hand. After an hour or so - as the pot was becoming interesting - an old-timer, bearded and grizzled, strode through the batwing doors. 

"Room for one more?" he asked, affably?

"Long as ya brought ya money, Stubs," answered one of the miners.

Glancing down, Heyes saw the reason behind the nickname. The digits on the man's hands fell several short of the traditional ten.

As Stubs was dealt in, the same young miner asked, "How's life out in the blastin' supply cabin?"

The older man gave a 'same old, same old' shrug, then perked up.

"Had me a treat this afternoon. Had me a visit from that Mrs. Connor. Bit better'n lookin' at your ugly mugs, huh?" he said, in the raised voice of one slightly deaf and accustomed to shouting over the noise of explosions. 

There were a couple of appreciative chuckles.

Heyes looked up, suddenly wary.

"What she doin' visitin' a scrawny, chicken-necked old coot, like you, Stubs?" laughed a second miner.

"Got that friend of hers - that little Spencer gal - with her. Said she's writin' a noh-veel-la, 'bout a mine. Gonna do some account of a cave-in. Wanted to know 'bout blastin' 'n' equipment 'n' such like."

Heyes relaxed a little. After all, a cave-in did feature in Meg's current work in progress.

The first miner opened for two dollars. 

"Gal sure can talk," said Stubs, "Things she told me! All that happens to this here, Mary-Sue, she's writin' 'bout. Don't know how she thinks of it all."

"Not far wrong there," agreed Heyes, "Betcha thought dynamitin' was a dangerous trade? Nothin' compared to featurin' as the heroine of a dime novel." 

He raised five dollars.

"Both real pleased to talk to me. One takin' notes, one makin' sketches. Big sheets of paper Mrs. Connor brung special, near two foot long. All rolled up loose in a grip - kept callin' it an arteest's portfolio - but looked plumb like a big ol' grip to me." Stubs had obviously enjoyed the novelty of a little feminine attention breaking up the working day. He went on. "Askin' to see blastin' caps, askin' bout safety fuse. Wanted me to reach down a bottle o' Nitro for 'em to look at." Stubs, sucked at his remaining few teeth, before finally seeing Heyes' five dollars. "Friendly as could be - pair of 'em," Stubs said, "Course - the little Spencer gal - she ain't exactly what you'd call a looker. Kinda skinny - nothin' much in the way of - " he made an indicative cupping gesture.

"Dunno, wouldn't kick it outta bed! Not till mornin' anyhow!" guffawed the first miner. 

He became aware that sociable, easygoing, Joshua Smith had transformed into a somehow dangerous, still, presence at the table. Meeting a silent, steady, glower from dark eyes in a set expressionless face, the young man gulped. 

"Don't mean nuthin'. No offence."

Stubs, intent on his cards and monologue, did not hear the exchange. 

He went on, "Now Kate Connor - another matter. Coax an ant outta its anthill, that one." 

"Thought you were past noticin', Stubs," joshed Brady.

"Day I stop noticin' her, you can nail down my coffin," said Stubs, "Man don't notice that walk past, ain't old - he's dead!"

Heyes met the old man's eyes in a long look.

Stubs coughed. 

"Don't mean to imply she ain't a real lady, " he temporised, "Clever too. Both clever. For women." 

Heyes could not contain a smile, as he considered Meg's probable reaction to such modified praise of her mental capacity. 

Seeing this, Stubs relaxed and returned to monologue mode.

"Askin' 'bout pumps too. They had me show 'em how a Bryant pump worked. Insisted on trying it out. Asked questions 'bout how long it'd take to create a vacuum in a shaft cavity. It's not the kinda thing you expect females to take an interest in."

Heyes face froze as this final item on Meg and Kate's list of questions for the store man was revealed. It came as no surprise when Stubs finished.

"Then Mrs. Connor had me go outside to show her where the next blastin's to be done. Wanted to sketch a rock face. The other little gal stayed behind; writin' notes in them squiggles she calls shorthand."

The ex-outlaw's shoulders slumped as Mr. Brady of the mercantile spoke up.

"Might ask a lotta questions - bet they don't understand the answers. Them two girls - just ain't practical. They called at the mercantile on their way home. Said they wanted to re-putty a loose window. Told 'em - only need one tin o' regular. I couldn't make 'em see it. They took two large tins of red seal quick-dry. Three times the price! I mean - better for me, but just goes to show. Not practical."

Heyes looked from the cards in his hand, to the pot. The notes crinkled at him, enticed him, called to him. Like a true hero, Hannibal Heyes made the ultimate sacrifice. Throwing in an aces over queens full house, he forced a smile.

"Too rich for me. I fold." He stretched and went on, "It's getting late. Might see you boys around."

As he strode, seething, from the saloon; Heyes made himself a promise. As soon as he had done whatever it took to keep every hair on Meg's head safe from harm - he was going to wring her silly neck.

oooOOOOOOOooo---

Heyes approached the Connor house. As predicted his partner was not back in their hotel room cleaning his gun. Curry was for the second time running in two days, voluntarily spending time in the company of a lawman. He leant on a boardwalk rail, in the companionable silence of naturally taciturn men, next to Deputy Sheriff Baker. They were about two hundred yards from the Connors' front door.

Heyes forced himself to slow down from his angry pace and assumed a cheerful relaxed expression.

"Hi, Thaddeus. Deputy." He exchanged nods with Baker, "Thaddeus, I left somethin' behind at Kate's. Just goin' to call and get it back. Comin'?"

If Deputy Baker thought it was a bit late to rouse the ladies, he kept it to himself. After all, these two men had dragged Emerson Connor from the flames last night - presumably that earned them unlimited visiting rights. The Deputy nodded 'See ya' to Thaddeus Jones and returned to silent contemplation of the night sky around the roof of the house.

Kid kept quiet until out of earshot. 

Then he asked in a low voice, "Whaddya wanna go an' disturb Kate for, this time of night? Saw all the lights go out 'bout half an hour since."

"Been watchin' close, huh?" said his partner, with clearly false bonhomie, "See anythin'?"

Heyes also kept his voice low enough not to travel back to Baker. 

"No one's been near," said Kid.

"You didn't see any one slip out the back, huh?" his partner asked, still with an exaggerated affability.

Kid opened his mouth. Realised he would not have seen anyone slip out the back. Closed his mouth again - confused.

The ex-outlaws reached the front door. Heyes rapped forcefully and at length. Then stepping back, hands on hips, he looked at the upstairs windows. A lamp was turned up. A feminine silhouette moved in the light. A curtain drew aside. Kate peered down. Seeing Heyes and Curry, she raised the window and leaned out. For the benefit of the Deputy, Heyes raised a friendly hand. 

Fiercely he hissed, "Git down here! NOW!"

Kate blinked and shut the window.

Curry stared at his partner in surprise and rising anger.

"Whaddya think you're doin'? Speakin' to her like that?"

Heyes did not turn to meet his partner's gaze. He was staring at the door, annoyance churning in his dark eyes.

Kate, swathed in a blush pink silk wrap, clutched over her nightdress, opened the door. Kid touched his hat, decided this was too casual and swept it off. 

Heyes leant against the doorframe, arm above his head, legs casually crossed. 

He too touched his hat - for the benefit of watching eyes - and growled, "Smile and nod. We're dickering about whatever I left here earlier and askin' after Emerson."

Kate looked wary, but glancing down the street in understanding, nodded.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Where's Meg?" said Heyes, with the same inflated affability he'd used to Kid.

"Meg?" replied Kate, flushing like a guilty rose, but opening her eyes innocently wide.

"Yeah - you remember her. Talks a lot. On the short side. Don't listen to what she's told. Meg!" said Heyes.

"Well -" temporised Kate, carefully. "- it must be around midnight. Surely any respectable young lady is in bed. Where else would Meg be?"

Heyes looked at her with grudging admiration. Natural mistress of diversionary tactics this afternoon and now, expertise in stalling techniques.

"Kate -" he said, "- you know a lotta long words, huh? Know what equivocation means?"

"Of course I know." 

"Good," smiled Heyes. "So do I. Where's Meg?"

Kate dropped her eyes. 

"Meg might have gone out," she admitted.

"Might she?" said Heyes. His face registered dramatic surprise. "Where might she have gone? West Hill? Or the mine offices?"

Kate bit her lip and stared at him defiantly.

"We both owe you more than we can repay, but that doesn't mean you can tell us what we can and can't do."

Heyes smiled at her.

"Gonna tell me here? Or gonna invite me in to shake it out of you?"

Kid, rendered both confused and glowering by Heyes' tone, moved forward.

"Lay so much as a finger on her, I'll flatten you."

Heyes rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored chivalrous Kid Curry.

However, this intervention worked.

"Please, Thaddeus," said Kate. She gave him a grateful smile; but stretched out a hand from its cocoon of pink silk, to touch his, in a gesture of restraint. "Joshua is quite right - he only wants Meg to be safe." Looking back at Heyes, she answered, "West Hill."

Heyes gave her a little nod of thanks.

"Now, -" he said "- go and fetch whatever I left, so Deputy Baker sees me collect somethin'."

"What?"

Heyes heaved an exasperated sigh and exploded, "Anythin' close. It's not as if you don't have imagination." 

Pulling her wrap round her, Kate disappeared into the hallway. Seconds later she re-appeared and handed what appeared to be a thick periodical to Heyes.

Heyes looked down at what lay in his hand. It was a lingerie catalogue. Heyes stared first at it, then at Kate, for several long moments.

"What the Sam Hill would I want with this?" he burst out. Then, "Even if I found me a use for this - would I be stupid enough to carry it with me visitin'? - Or careless enough to leave it behind? - Or brass-faced enough to come fetch it??!!!"

Kate exploded in turn, "For heavens sake! It's dark! Roll it up! He isn't going to see what it is!! If it bother's you that much, when you walk past, say - " Here, Kate assumed an expression reminiscent of Heyes' usual wide grin and dropping her voice in surprisingly good mimicry, "- Uh huh. Real glad I fetched me that copy o' 'Security Matters Monthly Gazette', Thaddeus. Got me a real fascinatin' article on the best kinda safes for haulin' payroll. Reckon a man needs somethin' relaxin' to read over a final glass o' whiskey 'fore turnin' in for the night."

Heyes glared at her. But as Kate mimed pushing back a hat, straddled her legs apart, put her hands on her hips and dropped her head before slowly shaking it from side to side, the exasperation left him. A grin stole across his face. He pushed back his hat, dropped his head and slowly shook it, looking up at her with reluctant but appreciative laughter in his dark eyes.

"See ya later, Kate. That's enough dickerin'. Nod us good-bye and go inside." 

She did.

Heyes grabbed his partner's arm and dragged him away. 

"Nice and relaxed past Baker," he warned.

The ex-outlaws passed the Deputy. Heyes touched his hat. Still confused, Kid followed his partner's lead.

"Reckon it's 'bout time to turn in. Night, Deputy," Heyes said.

Deputy Baker merely nodded.

"Keep it slow a while longer," said Heyes, "Don't want to raise suspicion. We don't wanna get followed, where we're goin'. Can't let Meg land in jail." He frowned menacingly, "Not 'til I'm done with her anyhow."

Kid struggling to make sense of it all, sought clarification.

"So - Meg's gone to Carleton's place - out at West Hill?" he asked.

"Yup."

"And we're gonna fetch her back 'fore she lands in any trouble?" Kid went on.

"Yup - just like the heroes we are," said Heyes.

"Why?" his partner asked. "I mean - why's Meg gone out there? Not - why are we are fetchin' her back," he spelt out carefully.

"She's gone to find the villain's sinister secrets," explained Heyes, adding, "Try an' keep up with the plot, Kid."

Kid glowered at his partner. 

They reached the livery to saddle up for the ride to West Hill.

"So - have we got a plan?" asked Kid, checking his gun.

"Got me one," confirmed Heyes, lifting the saddle onto his horse. 

Meeting his partner's enquiring eyes, Heyes explained the plan.

"Gonna find Meg. 

Wring her neck. 

Drag her home by her hair. 

Drag Kate down by her hair. 

Knock their silly heads together. 

Paddle 'em both till they can't sit down for a week."

Curry knew the chance of Heyes raising his hand to a woman was only marginally less than the chance he would do so himself. 

Nevertheless, once again - just to make his position clear - he said, "Lay a hand on Kate, I flatten you." 

He thought for a moment. He'd grown fond of little Meg. With brotherly concern, Kid widened the threat.

"Lay so much as a finger on either of 'em, I flatten you."

Heyes took hold of his reins. He looked at his partner and rolled his eyes.

"Guess I'll just have to switch to my back-up plan," he said simply.

"What's the back-up plan?" asked Kid, suspiciously.

Swinging into the saddle, Heyes said, "Find Meg. 

Lasso her so I don't hafta make contact. 

Drag her home. 

Fetch Kate down at gunpoint. 

Sit down with them -" he indicated the lingerie catalogue tucked into his saddlebag, "- drawings of ladies in their..." he searched, "…laces, 'n' ribbons 'n' fancy finery…" he decided, "…Find me some part of a woman's body I can paddle without raising the wrath of pure-hearted, chivalrous Kid Curry. 

Realise there ain't one! 

Flatten pure-hearted, chivalrous Kid Curry, for spoilin' Plan 'A'. 

Roll up that dang catalogue. 

Stand over 'em, make 'em paddle each other with it till they both can't sit down for a week. 

If that offends the modest Kid - he don't have to watch."

Curry thought this through.

"Don't think you can do that either," he finally decided.

"Sure I can," Heyes replied, "Weren't you listenin' today? Hannibal's debauched!"


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE **

**Early hours, Saturday 16th June 1883 - West Hill**

The partners tethered their horses amongst the trees about a third of a mile from West Hill and approached on foot. The moon was full and both men were uncomfortably aware of how visible they must be, crossing the open ground surrounding the house. Slinking the final few hundred yards past stables and outbuildings, they were alert for any sign of movement. All was quiet.

They circled the main house, searching for the study.

"I mighta found her," came Kid's low murmur.

He nodded, indicating one ground floor window emitting a faint glimmer of light from beneath a drawn blind.

From his boot, Heyes drew the slim knife he found ideal for opening window catches. He looked, stopped and gave a reluctant grin. If remaining unseen leaving the Connor house had been step one of her plan, Heyes guessed Meg could also tick off a successful step two.

"Guess I don't need this," he breathed to his partner. "Seems Meg knows the same trick."

With great stealth, Heyes raised the sash. The panel ran silently on its cords. Kid quietly held up the blind and the partners peered in.

Meg was seated on a rug, feet curled beneath her, in the corner of the panelled room. Her back was to the window. At floor level, one panel of wood had been slid back to reveal a concealed cavity. She had passed step three on her plan - she had found the safe.

Heyes surveyed the novice at work with grudging admiration. Her equipment was neatly laid out, the corked bottle of nitro placed far enough away to be at no risk of an accidental knock and she had remembered to bring a safety lamp to work by. This was currently illuminating a list in large, clear, block capitals, propped on a chair against the panelled wall. Heyes assumed, rightly, that the girls had transcribed; "how the Merchant's Bank at Denver safe was blown" and remembered to make it readable in a dim light. Meg was frowning, studying her instructions in deep concentration, whilst simultaneously levering the lid from a tin of red seal quick-dry putty with what looked like a butter knife. That is, it would look like a butter knife to the common herd of humanity. Meg, like Heyes, would correctly categorise it as 'a flat, slim-bladed, flexible knife, ideal for levering catches on windows'.

Heyes oozed himself through the sash; trod, cat-like, over the thick rug toward Meg and crouched. Fast as lightening, his black-gloved hand clamped tight across her mouth. Jerked from absorption in her task, every muscle in Meg's body stiffened in fright. Her eyes stared, stretched wide in terror, at the arm holding her.

"The trouble with this plan, Meg -" breathed Heyes, into her ear, "- is you forgot a vital element. You forgot to bring a look-out!"

Meg first relaxed in overwhelming relief at recognising his familiar, deep voice; stiffened again in chagrined defiance; then finally slumped, limp in Heyes grip, in frustrated surrender. Ruefully, she glanced back at the window. Curry, now sitting on the sill - continuing to watch for movement outside, smilingly touched his hat to her. Twisting her head round, Meg looked up to meet her captor's gaze. Heyes held the forefinger of his other hand to his lips. His eyes silently commanded her to be quiet. Heaving a sigh, Meg nodded, resigned.

Heyes released her.

"How did you know?" she whispered.

"I sat in on a poker game with that poor dupe of a store man."

Meg sighed and shrugged at this answer. One could never plan for all eventualities.

After a pause, Heyes said gravely, "Thought Zeb Daly was goin' to drive you today? You promised, Meg."

"Deputy Daly did drive us," said Meg affronted, "He just stayed outside the stores with the rig. When he offered to carry the bag, we pretended to make a lot of feminine fuss about being so careful with Kate's sketches - needing to handle them so delicately - and -" Meg had the grace to blush at the next part, "- and I said he might crush them by mistake - having such firm, powerful, hands and not knowing his own strength. So he backed off."

"Uh huh?" said Heyes, grinning despite himself.

From the window, Kid looked at the kit Meg had brought.

"You carried all this, includin' that bottle of nitro, near four miles?" he breathed in disbelief. He added, even more incredulously, "An' Kate - Kate was in on it all?"

"Of course she was!" huffed Meg, "Kate loves Emerson body and soul." She stared challengingly at Kid, "And next to her, he's the best friend I've ever had. Do you think we'll just sit home, winding bandages, when someone's tried to kill him? We want to find out why - and stop it from happening again."

"And you didn't heft all this four miles, did you?" put in Heyes. Still in a low voice, he said affably, "Shall I fill Thaddeus in?"

Put out to think her scheming might be more transparent than she'd hoped, but interested, Meg nodded.

"I think you had Zeb Daly stop somewhere close, on the drive home. Probably at the edge of the trees - just before the river bend. One of you drew poor Daly away. The other unloaded the gear. Hid it 'mongst the bushes to pick up later. You didn't carry it much more'n - what, three, four hundred yards - did you?"

Meg shook her head.

"And I made two trips. Carried just the nitro first - so I could be extra careful." she whispered back.

"How did you entice Daly away from the rig, Meg? More feminine fuss?" asked Heyes.

"Nothing very bad," she said, "We cooed about how lovely the tall irises were, down by the river. I offered to pick some for the house. Kate said the heat was getting too much for her, you know - 'Oh I'll wait here - with the rig - in the shade of the trees. But you must go with Meg, Deputy'. And I said - 'Oh yes, Deputy, you must come help me. Because I'll need to go right into the water's edge to gather the best flowers - and I might slip.'" Again, Meg flushed slightly, "When I got down to the edge, I decided to take my shoes and stockings off to wade. So, he had to turn his back and I made sure I placed myself so his back was toward the rig. Then he had to hold my hand while I stretched over. And of course, I made sure I did keep slipping and having to grab his other hand. Then I got all confused about what to dry my feet on - and he offered me his bandana. Then he had to turn his back again." Meg bit her lip to stop an involuntary laugh, "Oh Joshua, that poor man! I behaved like the silliest woman who ever drew breath. And I talked and talked at him, non-stop, all the time -"

"Figures," said Kid, dryly, from the window.

Meg grinned at this and finished, "It does Zeb Daly great credit that he didn't just pick me up and toss me in the water."

Heyes gazed at her.

"All that plannin' -" he breathed, "- and you forget a simple thing like a lookout!" He shook his head at her.

"I didn't forget!" breathed back an indignant Meg, "Kate can't leave Emerson whilst he's sick unless someone takes over. And she can't exactly ask Mrs. Bell - 'Please sit with my husband for a couple of hours tonight. I've got a safe to crack.' - can she?"

"Guess not," acknowledged Heyes.

"Besides - " whispered Meg, to both partners, "- we talked it over and decided Kate had a more important role than look-out." She drew herself up and added with great consequence, "Kate's my back-up!"

"Back-up?" asked Kid, confused.

"She's got to break me out of jail if this all goes wrong!"

Kid stared at Meg for a long moment. He opened his mouth to ask another question, then shut it firmly. He did not want to know.

Meg looked thoughtfully from Kid to Heyes.

"Now you're here -" she whispered enticingly, "- you can be my lookout."

Heyes gave her a wide smile, but shook his head.

"Pack up, Meg. We're takin' you home."

He straightened up, then pulled Meg to her feet.

Meg got up, but she tugged her hand away and said, "No! You can't make me!"

"Wanna wager on that?"

Meg glowered at him. She suspected the odds of that wager were not in her favour, but was not ready to fold just yet.

Heyes took a deep breath and decided to try reasoning, before resorting to force.

"Look Meg. That - " he pointed at the safe "- isn't a Pierce & Hamilton '78. Nothing like it. It's a plain old Miller Safe, made in Philadelphia. Create a vacuum in that an' set off ten ounces of Nitro - you won't just blow the door off! Probably - " he made an exploding gesture with both arms and an appropriate, though soft, sound effect, "- take the wall out. You with it! Have you any idea how dangerous this stuff is?"

Meg looked doubtfully at the corked bottle, but still rallied.

"I wasn't going to use the full ten ounces. I didn't know in advance what kind of safe I'd find - so I brought a measure to work out how much nitro I'd need." She pointed, not without pride in her forethought, at a tape measure, neatly rolled next to a kitchen funnel, "This safe has roughly three fifths the cubic capacity of a Pierce & Hamilton '78. So I was going to use six ounces of nitro." Looking up, anxious for approval, Meg added, "What do you think?"

"I think you're in the wrong line of work, Meg!" said Heyes, with genuine respect, "But it's not just a question of cubic capacity. The Pierce & Hamilton is made of tool steel." Seeing her frown, he added, "It's a high grade alloy. That - " he again pointed at the safe "- That's plain carbon steel. Nothing like as strong."

Meg's shoulders slumped.

"Well, I didn't know any of that." She looked up at Heyes, torn between admiration and annoyance, "If you hadn't been so stuffy this afternoon, I'd have consulted you. Together we'd have come up with a 'Plan B'."

"'Guess that's the way it goes Meg," smiled Heyes, "Afraid I'm just no fun at all!"

Meg drooped in surrender. She gazed longingly at the Philadelphia Miller. With childlike simplicity, she slid her hand into that of Heyes and looked up at him.

"Oh but, Joshua - " her eyes moved back, lingering over the smooth metal surface, "- when you look at it. All closed and - " she gave a little shiver, "- and secure and secret. Don't you long to open it? I do. I can hear whatever is inside, whispering, 'find me…find me!'."

Kid, hearing this, glanced first at her, then - with trepidation at Heyes. He acquitted Meg of deliberately using feminine wiles. But, he had to hand it to her. He'd seen many women throw out lures to his partner over the years. They might have ten times Meg's looks and a hundred times her experience with men. However, Kid had never once heard a single one come up with a line more likely to succeed in seducing Hannibal Heyes.

Heyes looked at the safe. He looked at the, rather grubby, hand slipped into his. Finally, he looked at Meg's grey eyes looking up at him, her short upper lip a little lifted in simple entreaty.

Kid groaned inwardly, as he heard his partner breathe, "Well - as you've got this far. An' since it all seems quiet…."

Meg squeezed her eyes shut in ecstasy. Letting go of Heyes' hand, she hugged herself in joy. Opening her eyes wide, she beamed at him.

"Joshua, I could kiss you."

Kid saw a rather sheepish grin spread over Heyes face. He suspected his partner would raise no complaints if Meg followed through on this statement. She did not. She reached out for the tin of quick-dry putty.

"No," said Heyes, firmly.

She looked up at him.

"Like I said - not safe to use nitro," continued Heyes, "Why not try the tumblers?"

Meg frowned.

"Could we?" she wondered, "The thing about the pump method is - whilst Hannibal Heyes must have been awfully clever to think it up - once you have the instructions, anyone can try it." She looked doubtfully at the safe, "Turning tumblers - surely that takes practice?"

"It can't hurt to try," enticed Heyes, "Nothin' to lose. Give it an hour. If we get nowhere - we pack up an' go home."

Meg bit her lip and considered. Then, like a schoolgirl, she flung up one hand.

Still remembering to whisper she said, "I call turning tumblers." Looking at the partners, she added, "That leaves one of you to be lookout and I think one should help listen and note down numbers."

Heyes gazed at Kid, "Whaddya say, Thaddeus. You goin' to come over here? Help Meg count the turns?"

Curry glowered back at his partner.

Every inch of him longed to call Heyes' bluff.

But.

With Meg, Heyes and Kate, (Kate!), all taking an active hand in writing the plot - could he cope with adding to the twists.

Kid decided to stick to his scripted role.

"No. I call lookout," he said, deadpan.

Curry went to the study door. Opened it. Listened carefully - nothing. He locked the door. Then he propped a sturdy chair under the handle to give them a few extra seconds if disturbed from that direction.

He drew his gun, checked it and kept it - raised - in his hand. Then he positioned himself so he could see outside without letting more than a faint glimmer of light show through the window. He nodded 'Ready' at his partner.

Meg was impressed.

"He's good isn't he?" she breathed at Heyes.

Heyes sniffed. "Likes to think so," he answered. Turning back, he said, "I think we're ready, Meg. Want to get started?"

Meg prepared for her attempt to crack the safe. Sitting sideways on, knees tucked up to her chest, she took hold of the dial in her right hand and placed her left - fingers splayed - against the door. Pressing her cheek and ear to the metal, she slowly began to turn the dial.

Crouching beside her, Heyes waited a minute, then breathed, "Hear anything?"

"Clicking - and something else - it's hard to be sure." She frowned, moving her hand across the surface, "Something inside. Like touching the side of pianola - a sort of vibration."

"Mind if I try?"

Without waiting for an answer, Heyes tucked his gloves into his waist and moved to sit behind Meg. He pulled up close, so his belly and chest pressed against the curve of her spine. Feet flat to the floor; his bent legs clasped her narrow hips.

"Feel anything now?" he whispered, his breath lifting the curl above her ear.

She nodded, rapt with concentration on the safe. Heyes placed his left hand lightly on hers, interweaving their fingers.

"There?" he asked.

"Not sure," said Meg.

"Keep your touch real light, Meg. Just fingertips. A little lower."

Heyes gently moved Meg's fingers to the perfect spot.

"I feel something," she breathed.

Still holding her left hand in place, Heyes brought his right arm round her and placed his right hand over Meg's, on the dial.

"Try turning it to left." To hear the tumblers, Heyes had brought his face so close his lips stirred the soft hairs on the back of her neck. "Keep it real slow, Meg - just kinda stroke it - gently, gently."

"Oh!" Meg gave a smothered gasp of joy, "I heard something!"

"Think that was the first tumbler?" asked Heyes.

"Maybe," she breathed. Her brow furrowed with sudden distress, "But I forgot to count!"

"Eight left," whispered Heyes. "Try it to the right now. Real slow - don't rush."

The couple continued with their task.

From time to time Kid heard soft murmurs from Meg and an occasional throaty "Ahhh" from Heyes, indicating another number found.

Glancing over, from the lookout point at the window, Curry shook his head in disbelief. Heyes was wrapped so tightly round Meg; Kid doubted he could slide a greased nickel between them. His face had that slightly open-mouthed, hungry, look of anticipated pleasure he always wore when close to the climax of cracking a safe.

Kid rolled his eyes and muttered to himself.

"Sheesh, Heyes! An' it's not even your birthday!"

Suddenly Heyes' body tensed. His eyes closed. His throat rasped as he drew in a deep breath. Taking Meg's hand with his, he grasped the handle and pushed it down with a single, firm, thrust. Heyes' eyes flew open. A flush of rapture swept over his face. With a smothered gasp of delight, he fell back from Meg. Arms out behind to support his weight, he threw back his head and could not restrain a deep gurgle of pure pleasure.

The safe was open.

Moving forward and swivelling around to face Heyes, Meg glowed with satisfaction.

"It worked! I did it!!"

Heyes smiled back at her and nodded, "You did it, Meg."

oooOOOOOOOooo---

The safecrackers contemplated the open door, sharing a moment of mutual fulfilment.

Heyes whispered, "You realise - there's very little chance of finding anything useful?"

"What kinda thing you expectin', Meg?" said Kid in a low voice from his lookout point.

She looked rather sheepish.

"Well, in my books the villain often keeps a private diary. He records his evil machinations, beginning with a gloating message to posterity - 'None of the fools around me realise I am a Napoleon of crime. From my earliest years, I schemed for the absolute power, which can only be grasped by a brilliant man working outside the law. My impregnable mask of respectability hid my sinister secret.' Then he spells out whatever his sinister secret is, in simple language, so Allan Chevalier - celebrated New York detective - can move on with the plot and unmask him."

She looked at Kid's sceptical face.

"I'm not expecting that in real life, obviously," she said, "But you never know! We could find a birth certificate proving that Emerson is really Louis Hamilton's son by a secret marriage and the true owner of the mine.

Or, we could find the title deeds - and see that they're forgeries.

Maybe, Oliver Carleton didn't really part own a meat packing business in Chicago before coming here. He was running opium; and still owns a network of dens, where those who have lost all hope seek escape in delirium.

Perhaps we'll discover that on first seeing Kate's matchless beauty - Carleton was struck by an insurmountable ardour and for months has planned to murder her husband as the first step in assuaging a guilty, but irresistible, passion."

Kid shifted his gaze to Heyes and rolled his eyes.

Heyes grinned, but contented himself with saying practically, "Well! Guess if we've got to find all that - better get started." He lifted the lamp to illuminate the interior of the safe, "What's in there, Meg?"

"The top shelf is nothing but money - thousands and thousands of dollars," she said, rather disappointed. She flashed a mischievous smile, "Shame we're not thieves!"

"WE? WE're not thieves!" shot back Heyes, letting his eyes rest meaningfully on the stolen Bryant pump.

"Oh! I was going to take that back!" breathed Meg, "It's valuable and the store man might get into trouble when they realise one is missing. Kate and I know that's not fair." Her eyes moved from the pump, to the rest of the gear, "We thought we'd salve our conscience on the nitro and other consumables by donating the value to the miner's hospital fund."

A thought struck Meg. Turning back to the safe, she drew out a bundle of notes.

"Perhaps it's fake!" she breathed. "Do you think that's it? He's counterfeiting money - using the mine operation to circulate it!"

Heyes took the money. He delicately felt the texture of the top note between thumb and forefinger, then raised the bundle to his face and inhaled deeply. Lowering it, he whispered, reverently, "Nope, genuine."

Meg stared. "Can you really tell - by the smell?"

"HE can," said Kid.

Heyes was still staring at the money in his hand.

"Joshua," hissed Kid. No reaction. "Joshua!"

"Huh?" said Heyes, eyes still fixed. He gave a start and met his partner's stare.

Kid pointedly moved his eyes from the money, back to the safe. He gave an insistent jerk of his head. Heyes gave the money a last lingering caress. Averting his gaze, he placed it firmly back in the safe.

Meg was studying the contents of the bottom shelf.

"These - these look like legal documents and family records," she said.

Heyes took the pile and straightened up. Taking the safety lamp, he walked over to the desk. He settled down in the chair. Meg scurried after him and reached for the top document. Heyes gently caught her hand.

Meeting her eyes, he warned, "Got to go back in the same order." He looked at her hands, "And you might not wanna get dirt all over 'em."

Meg nodded apologetically.

"Sorry," she breathed, "I got a bit dusty slithering away from the house." She moved to read over Heyes' shoulder, whilst rather ineffectually trying to clean her hands with spit and the edge of her skirt. "What's first?" she breathed.

"Certificate of birth," whispered back Heyes, "Issued here in Butte. Oliver Hamilton Carleton. Born Wednesday 23rd May 1883."

As if on cue, the stillness of the night was broken. A shrill squalling was heard. It sounded distant in the large house. The three interlopers swivelled their heads in unison. Meg clasped her hands over her mouth, gulping down a yelp of terror. Kid slid from the window and padded silently to the door. Ear to the crack, he listened intently. The insistent cries continued, muffled by intervening walls, and the ceiling. Meg strained every sinew to listen. She thought she heard an upstairs door opening, but then decided it was her own imagination creating the expected sound. The cries subsided. Meg mentally conjured maternal hushing noises - but nothing reached her ears.

There was dead quiet in the study.

It seemed to Meg that hours passed. The study clock more accurately told her that just fifteen minutes went by before Kid caught his partner's eye, nodded for him to continue and returned to his first lookout spot.

Meg let out a long fluttering gasp.

"Actually -" she breathed, "- if it sounds as quiet as that, I bet they're all the way up on the second floor. Because it makes a frightful racket. Mrs. Carleton had it brought down when Kate and I visited Wednesday morning. It kept squawking then."

Kid looked over from the window, with a frown, "'He', Meg. Not 'it' - 'he'."

She looked at him, thoughtfully, for a moment.

"You sound just like Emerson," she decided. "He gets broodier every day."

She turned back to Heyes. He was turning over the next document.

"What's next?" Meg asked.

"Will. Lydia Carleton, nee Hamilton. Made five years ago - Chicago lawyers. Codicil added ten days ago. Looks like a lawyer from Helena came in to draw it up."

"What's it say?" she breathed, clasping his shoulders and leaning over to peer at the close writing.

Heyes looked up at her.

"Meg?" he said.

"Yes?"

Heyes glanced at the equipment still laid out on the floor.

"Amongst all this gear - did you bring anything useful? Like a pencil, to make some notes?"

"Of course!" Meg stared at him, wide-eyed at his lack of faith, "I ALWAYS carry a notebook and pencil. I even keep them by me in the bath - in case I suddenly think of something exciting for a plot!" She handed them over. "What's the will say?" she asked.

"Everythin' not held in trust goes to her husband. Codicil is about the trust property - as specified by the will of the late Louis Hamilton - passing to the baby, if she dies. Firm of lawyers in Boston to control the capital till he's twenty-one. This attorney in Helena is their authorised proxy."

Meg frowned, "Doesn't sound sinister. Unless -" she narrowed her eyes "- unless the secret concerns the baby. Perhaps Mrs. Carleton never was pregnant. Just pretending - you know, with cushions. But her husband was desperate for an heir - to inherit the mine. So they smuggled in a baby - like James II and the old pretender." Meg thought for a moment, then leaned in to breathe, "Though probably not in a warming pan - because I can't believe that would work. I mean - warming pans aren't that big nowadays."

"Uh huh," grunted Heyes, not raising his eyes from the notes he was making.

"Probably bribed some poor destitute woman. Shivering with hunger and fear for the future. Persuaded her that the poor innocent babe would be better off raised as the son of wealthy parents." Meg quickly sketched in some background colour.

"Uh huh."

Heyes turned over the next document, without looking up, "This one's a will too. Louis Hamilton. Made 1881. Supersedes all previous wills. Few bequests to servants. Ten thousand to the miner's hospital here - to be named after him. Holdings back in Dakota Territory go to Chris Lloyd - calls him 'his most valued partner and friend'. Residual - all to be held in trust for his sister. Same firm of Boston Lawyers are trustees. Passes to any 'heirs male of her body'. Girls only inherit if no boys come along. If she died childless - the whole lot to revert to Chris Lloyd. Nothing for Carleton."

Meg leaned in close again.

"See - he did need an heir!" she whispered.

"No. Not saying he might not see an heir as an insurance for the future," said Heyes, fair-mindedly, "Short-term, he just needs his wife stayin' put, doin' as she's told. From what I've heard - he's got that covered."

"So you don't think he smuggled in a baby?" Meg asked, rather deflated.

"I think Doc Bell mighta noticed durin' the delivery," said Heyes, deadpan.

Meg frowned over this, then inspiration struck, "Doctor Bell could have been bribed. Or - " her hands gripped Heyes shoulders, "- he's working with Carleton in the opium business. For all we know he came to Butte at the same time. His medical practice is a cover for a web of drugs - trading in the oblivion offered by narcotics."

"Uh huh." Again, Heyes kept his eyes on the notes he was making.

Kid glanced over.

"This'd be the same Doc Bell we met Friday?" he clarified, "Elderly gentleman. Real pleasant manner. Told me he was from Wisconsin?"

Meg straightened up and shrugged, "I don't really believe anything bad about Doctor Bell. I'm just thinking out loud, Thaddeus. It's part of a creative process."

Heyes turned over the next document.

"What's this one?" Meg breathed.

"Blackmail letter -" whispered Heyes, "- starts off. Be afraid, Carleton, I know your sinister secret…"

"No!"

"No," agreed Heyes, "Just joinin' in on the creative front. It's the title deeds to the mine."

"Is it a forgery?"

"Doubt it," said Heyes. He went on, "More title deeds. This house. Land in Anaconda. Oh…!"

"What?" breathed Meg, excited.

"Title deeds of properties purchased this spring. Three houses on Mercury Street, no less!"

There was a smothered snort of laughter from Kid.

"Bet they really ARE a gold mine!" he said.

"Why?" asked Meg. "What do you mean?" Seeing Heyes again absorbed in reading, she went over to Kid. "Tell me Thaddeus. Why did you laugh? What's special about Mercury Street?"

Kid shifted uncomfortably and felt his cheeks grow hot, under Meg's wide-eyed, enquiring gaze.

"Well, it's -" he stopped.

"It's what?"

"It's where -"

"Where what?" prompted Meg.

Kid adopted a firm tone, "See here, Meg. It isn't good practice to disturb the lookout. I need to stay alert, here." He turned his shoulder and frowned intently out into the night.

Meg returned to the desk.

"Why would a house on Mercury Street be a gold mine?" she asked Heyes.

"Because it's more'n likely a den of vice," he replied, in a matter of fact tone, eyes still scanning the documents in front of him.

"Opium?" gasped Meg.

Heyes looked up, exasperated, "What is it with you and opium? You got it on the brain or what? No! Ordinary vice. Run of the mill vice. Common or garden vice." He spelt it out, "Brothels."

"Oh!" said Meg. She brightened, "Well surely that's a shameful secret! Emerson could have found out and be going to tell people."

"Tell who - who would care?"

"Carleton's employees," suggested Meg.

"Well since he's grantin' credit there in lieu of wages, I kinda think they already know," said Heyes.

"Oh!" said Meg. She thought again, "His wife?"

Heyes shrugged.

"Maybe," he temporised. He returned to the documents on the desk.

Meg bent back to her position over his shoulder.

"What's next?" she whispered.

"Two - no three - next papers are certified copies of death records."

"Whose?"

Heyes finger ran over the paper in front of him.

"First is, some woman - Mary Rourke. Death registered here in Butte 30th November 1882. Cause of death - pneumonia," he read.

"Why's that with the others?" wondered Meg, "Ohhh!! I know! She was secretly married to Louis Hamilton. The mine really belongs to her."

"Even though she died first?" queried Heyes.

"Oh! But there could still have been a secret wedding. Perhaps there was a child - and Carleton's got him hidden in an orphanage."

"Says she was housekeeper here," said Heyes, "Probably got no kin, near. I suppose Hamilton just kept this for a while in case any family got in touch."

"Even if she was his housekeeper - they could still have been secretly married," Meg persisted.

"Age - 67," finished Heyes, "Bit old for him. What was he? Mid forties?"

"She could have been a temptress whom age could not wither. Like Cleopatra."

"Bit wasted keepin' house out in Butte then," Heyes concluded. He turned to the next record, "This one's another servant. Lady's maid. A lot younger - 32. Name of Ellen Fraser. She died Wednesday 14th Feb 1883. Cause of death - trauma to the head - following a fall. Death registered in Medora, Billings County. That's Dakota territory."

"She must have been Mrs. Carleton's maid," said Meg.

"I suppose," agreed Heyes, "It looks like she never finished the journey from Chicago."

"A fall!" breathed Meg, "Carleton pushed her out of a window. Because she'd found out - whatever it is! Maybe it was a fake pregnancy after all. If this Ellen Fraser were Mrs. Carleton's maid - she'd know! So they had to kill her. OR - she found out that Carleton owned dens of vice. Not opium - the other kind. She threatened to tell his wife - so he threw her down the stairs."

"Or indeed, out of a window," murmured Heyes, "Of course the stairs might look more natural!" He turned to the last death record, "This one's Louis Hamilton. Died Monday 19th Feb 1883. Death registered here in Butte. Says - Uremia?"

Heyes looked questioningly at Meg.

"I think that means a problem with your kidneys. Toxins build up in your system," she said, hesitatingly. More confidently, "Of course, Oliver Carleton could have poisoned him with something that mimicked the symptoms."

"I thought he didn't arrive here till after Hamilton was dead?" pointed out Heyes.

"He could have sent the poison by post," shot back Meg.

"What - from the meat packing house in Chicago? Would you eat it?" asked Heyes.

"Poison doesn't have to be in food. It can be in something you wear - to absorb through the skin. In Elizabethan times, people were sometimes killed with poisoned gloves," said Meg.

"Really?"

"Well - in books. I think once in real life. And wasn't Hercules poisoned with a shirt? Of course - he was a myth. But it still must mean it's not impossible." Meg smiled at Heyes.

"Uh huh."

Heyes began to read the final document from the safe.

"Certified copy of a marriage license," Heyes said, "Boston. August 1872. Lydia Hamilton, Spinster, 23. Oliver Carleton, Bachelor - "

"I bet he wasn't -" breathed Meg, "- I bet he's a bigamist. Then he wouldn't be entitled to any income from the mine. His real wife is shut up in a lunatic asylum. Do you think that's it? Not the bit about the lunatic asylum necessarily - but do you think he's a bigamist?"

Heyes shrugged, "Compared to most of the options I've been offered - sounds almost possible."

Kid spoke up from the window, "Married eleven years and this baby's her first. No wonder she wants to show him off to visitors!"

Meg looked at him, then leaned back to Heyes, "He's right you know. That's a good point." She thought for a moment, then breathed, "If their secret does concern the baby - there's something more likely than a fake pregnancy. Suppose Oliver Carleton isn't the father. He'd want to keep that secret."

"Suppose his wife would too - mainly from him. How's he know?" asked Heyes, making a note of the details on the marriage license.

She leaned in even closer.

"He could be - well - inadequate," she breathed.

Heyes gave his head a little shake, "Meg. How am I supposed to concentrate with you blowin' in my ear every two seconds?"

She blinked.

"I am not blowing in your ear. I am hissing conspiratorially!" she hissed, conspiratorially. Conspiratorially and with dignity

"Well, go hiss at Thaddeus - you're distractin' me."

With an offended, "Humph!" Meg went over to Kid, "Thaddeus, do you think Oliver Carleton might be - inadequate?"

Kid had not picked up on all the conspiratorial hissing.

"Whaddya mean - inadequate?" he asked.

Meg failed to think of a second euphemism.

"Impotent," she said baldly.

"What?"

"It means -"

"I know what it means!" hissed Kid. Not conspiratorially.

"Because then he'd know - that he wasn't the baby's real father. And it could be that he wants to keep secret. Tomorrow," went on Meg, "We should make a list of possibilities to follow up on. You could follow up on that."

Kid just stared at her.

"Well I can't, can I?" whispered Meg. "It's not a fit subject for mixed company."

Kid continued to stare, open-mouthed.

"I know I'm in mixed company now -" said Meg, "- but it doesn't seem to count when you're collaborating on a break-in."

Kid's stare seemed frozen to his face.

"You could get him talking - over a drink. Lead the conversation in the right direction," persisted Meg.

"Dunno, Thaddeus," came Heyes voice from the desk, "You didn't exactly part on the best of terms. Might wanna pick a different ice-breaker."

Kid closed his mouth. Then he closed his eyes.

"Meg," he said quietly.

"Yes?"

"Can you stop yakkin' for two minutes together?" asked Kid.

Meg's eager expression fell. She thought hard.

"No!" she said honestly and apologetically. "When I'm excited I think out loud." She shrugged, "In print, I think it's called 'stream of consciousness' - but 'yakking' covers it too." Meg smiled, ruefully, up at him, "Of course - if you joined in with the thinking out loud - I wouldn't have so many gaps to fill," she offered, as a compromise.

An involuntary laugh broke from Kid. With a helpless shrug, he smiled back at Meg.

"Do you think its possible baby Oliver, upstairs - isn't Carleton's?" asked Meg.

"Anything's possible. Why'd that make him set a gun on Emerson Connor, or have him knocked over the head?"

Meg gave Kid an encouraging smile at this evidence of willingness to 'join in'.

"Could Emerson have found out?" she prompted.

"Don't see how," said Kid, "Less of course - he's the father."

Kid regretted this, the instant it left his mouth. Too late, he realised that rapid 'thinking out loud' requires the ability not to be embarrassed after expressing one of the large proportion of ideas which are dismissed in seconds.

"Ohhhh!!" breathed Meg, momentarily entranced by this looping plot twist, "A wish for silence AND revenge prompted by jealous rage." Reality took over. "Oh no!!" she decided, "Not Emerson. I've known him for years. It's not the kind of thing he'd ever talk to me about - but I'm sure he's - well - spotless. I can't believe he's lived a secret life of dissipation!" She mused, then went on, "I've always assumed his marriage is really happy - in that area. I know it is for Kate - because I asked her - and she told me she's blissfully happy - in that way." Meg looked questioningly at Kid, "So - that must mean he's contented too?" Or doesn't it follow?"

Kid silently took a vow never to be tempted into thinking out loud again.

"Besides - " continued Meg, "- Lydia Carleton's not hideous or anything. She looks - more or less - like an expensively dressed, older, worried, version of me. Only quiet. But, if I were a man and had someone like Kate at home, waiting to be made blissfully happy - I don't think I'd risk making an enemy of Oliver Carleton, just to run after someone like that. Would you?"

Heyes was now replacing the documents in the safe.

"Careful, Thaddeus," he smiled. "There's a trick in that question!"

Meg was waiting for an answer. Kid thought - silently - before he spoke.

"No," he said. He thought some more, "I mean, yes." He decided to expand, "If I was married - no matter how pretty or not my wife was, I wouldn't run after other women. But if I did - them not looking any better than you, wouldn't be a problem."

"Smooth!" Heyes admired, winning a glare from his partner. "See, Meg! Thaddeus has done you a favour. Next time you need something romantic for one of your heroes - you got a speech ready."

Heyes shut and locked the safe and turned to face them.

"Now - will the pair of you both quit yakkin'? Can't either of you count?"

Meg looked confused.

"The baby was born May," said Heyes, "Where was Lydia Carleton back in September?"

"Still living in Chicago," said Meg.

"And where was Emerson Connor?" he continued.

"Still living in Boston. Preparing to move to Montana," said Meg, "Oh."

"Yes. 'Oh.' Take more than a secret life of dissipation. Take a geographical miracle," Heyes said, "Pack up. Time to leave."


	10. Chapter 10

**C****HAPTER TEN **

Meg's gear was packed up and the furniture returned to its original position. The door was unlocked. Heyes moved to slide the wall panel back across the safe.

"Wait," hissed Meg, "Have either of you a clean handkerchief?"

Kid's hand moved to his jacket. He paused.

"Joshua," he prompted, with the faintest of flushes.

Heyes gave a tiny shake of his head, but untied his bandana and handed it to Meg.

He watched in admiration as she carefully wiped the safe door and dial, closed the panel and wiped that. Moving over to the door, she polished the handle. She dusted the back of the chair used to prop it shut. Finally, she wiped down the windowsill and frame. Returning to Heyes, she hooked the bandana back around his neck. Still holding the ends, she gazed up at him.

"Just in case," she breathed seriously, "Fingerprints. You know – 'Tales of the Mississippi.'"

Heyes caught Meg's hands as he took the bandana from her and held them for a second.

"Meg," he grinned. "You are definitely my kinda girl!"

He blew out the safety lamp and added it to the rest of the equipment. He slung the bag over his shoulder. Kid lowered himself out of the window. His partner handed him the corked bottle of nitro.

"Careful with that Thaddeus," Heyes smiled.

Kid stared at him outraged.

"Wanna toss for it?" Heyes offered.

Kid rolled his eyes and shook his head, "I'll carry it!"

Heyes helped Meg out of the window, then, still with the bag slung over his shoulder, climbed after her. He closed it and following her example wiped down the outer frame and sill.

They set off, stealthily, away from the house, holding their breath as they slinked past the outbuildings where the hands would be sleeping. As they passed the stables, sticking wherever they could to the shadows, Meg's foot hit the curving prong of a pitchfork hidden amongst loose straw scattered around. The handle swung at her like lightening - missing her head by inches. She jumped, but managed to clamp her hand over her own mouth to stifle a squeak of shock. Her eyes flashed abject apology at Heyes.

The released pitchfork thwacked smartly against the stable, echoing in the silence of the night. It fell - noisily dislodging a bucket resting on a barrel. That too, sounded ridiculously loud as it hit first the hard floor, then banged against the timber wall. The creaking as it continued to roll back and forth seemed endless.

From within the stable came whinnies, startled neighs, hooves sounding on a stone floor.

Three pairs of eyes watched in horror as a light appeared in one of the outbuildings. They heard voices. Not clear - but enough.

"….Someone… by the stables…."

"….Git the shotguns…. "

There was a creak as a door opened.

"Make a run for it?" queried Kid, looking at his partner. His tone of voice conveyed he did not think much of this option.

The expanse of open ground between the stables and the first available tree cover was wide and exposed. No clouds dimmed the bright moonlight.

"Getting peppered by a shotgun? You heftin' a bottle of nitro, an' me with Mary-Sue here, slung over one shoulder?" said Heyes.

Meg gave an indignant yelp of protest.

"In here," ordered Heyes. He raised the bar holding shut the stable door and pushed Meg inside. Pulling the door to, behind Kid, Heyes thrust the bag of equipment over and hissed to his partner, "Hide."

Carrying the stolen pump and blasting gear, Kid immediately melted into the darkness. A soft whinny suggested he'd tucked himself into an occupied stall.

"This is stupid!" protested Meg, "They'll see the door's been opened. They'll know we're here."

"Sure they will," breathed Heyes, "I mean to give 'em somethin' to find." With that, he scooped her up and deposited her without ceremony on a pile of freshly cut hay. "Pull your blouse outta your skirt, open a button or two, an' play along," he whispered, as he dropped down to lay alongside her. Feeling herself gathered into his arms, Meg gave a smothered gasp. Close by her ear, Heyes breathed. "Shut your eyes, don't notice when the door opens - not till I do."

She heard heavy footsteps approach, at a cumbersome run. Heyes pulled her tight. His lips sought hers in the darkness. Suddenly, his mouth moved back to her ear.

"I said play along - "he hissed. "- Don't just lay there."

Spurred into proving herself adept in any role thrust upon her, Meg brought one hand to the back of his head, winding her fingers into his hair. The other she flung around him in a tight hug. Her hand landed lower than intended. With an embarrassed, smothered apology, she moved it up to the small of his back.

He broke to murmur, "Not a problem, Meg," into her hair, before returning to kissing her, bringing one leg over hers to press her more firmly back into the hay.

She heard a scrape as wood rasped against the stone floor. Opening her eyelids the slightest fraction, she saw the outline of two men in the moonlit doorway. Heyes did not react, except to let his hands run the length of her body and to kiss her more deeply.

"Who's there? Know you're in here," called a voice.

A lamp, held high, swept around the stable. Meg saw that one figure levelled a shotgun. The pool of light fell on them. Heyes rolled away from Meg. He lay sprawled on his back, raised on one elbow, staring at the two men who had entered.

"Whaddya think you're doing, fella?" rasped the man holding the shotgun.

Heyes gulped, then glanced pointedly, at Meg.

"Tha- that's not - not exactly a question a gentleman can answer…not straight out," he stammered.

Watching Heyes, Meg wanted to applaud. Strands of hay caught in his tousled hair. His cheeks flushed. Embarrassment flooded his dark, wide-open, eyes. His shirt, pulled open to the waist, hung loose out of his pants. She saw his chest heave with simulated passion.

The lamp was shifted slightly to fall full on Meg. Struggling to sit up, she saw two pairs of eyes raking over her. Instinctively she clutched at the neck of her blouse and tried to pull her skirt back down over her calves.

The shotgun gradually lowered and an appreciative low chuckle filled the stable.

"Sam, think we caught us a tom-cat, havin' himself a piece of tail!"

The light was moved to run over Meg, from head to foot.

"Very nice too!"

More knowing laughter.

"Pick some other place next time, son. Find you here again, likely to get yourself a butt load o' shot!"

Heyes, still shame-faced, pulled Meg to her feet. Avoiding the laughing eyes, he began to drag her from the stable.

As they passed the door, Meg felt herself caught.

"Now you, honey -" said the first man, "- you're welcome back any time. Soon as you get tired of boys 'n' want a real man, you just come 'n' let me know!"

She yelped, as she received a sharp pinch, followed by a slap, which lingered over her behind.

Heyes tugged her away. They scampered across the open ground toward the trees. Laughter and raucous comments followed them. Glancing back, Meg saw the men replace the bar across the stable door and walk slowly back to the outbuildings, shoulders shaking with mirth.

oooOOOOOOOooo---

Heyes slowed the pace as soon as they reached the cover of the trees, but he did not stop pulling Meg along until they were at the spot where he and Kid had tethered their horses. Then he let go of her hand and dropped down into the grass. She flopped beside him.

He grinned at her and as soon as he could speak, gasped, "You can slap my face now, if it makes you feel better!"

She met his eyes and struggling to both laugh and pant for breath at the same time, wheezed, "No, it worked! That was wonderful, Joshua. You are SO clever! I would never have thought of pretending to be - to be -" Meg's vocabulary, wide as it was, failed her, "- as a diversionary tactic."

Her breathing slowly returned to normal. Looking up at the sky, she gave a sudden, rueful, snort of laughter.

"What?" asked Heyes.

She shook her head as she met his eyes, "I was just thinking, after twenty four years, a man finally kisses me - I mean kisses me properly - and it STILL doesn't count because he's only pretending." She turned away from him and gazed thoughtfully into the darkness of the trees in front of her.

Heyes continued to look at Meg. He was thinking first, just how much information was packed into that last artless comment. Secondly, he was wondering if the entire male population of Boston was made up of idiots with mediocre taste - or if Meg just moved in a particularly restricted circle.

She interrupted his train of thought.

"Joshua -"

"Yes, Meg?"

"Shouldn't we be going back to rescue Thaddeus?"

Heyes grinned, "I think Thaddeus can probably rescue himself. He'll lay low until all's quiet, then slip away. Make his way back here. Might take the gear back to the mine store first - depends."

"But they put the bar back across the door," said Meg.

He smiled, "If you can lever a window catch, Meg, guess Thaddeus can manage to escape from a stable."

"Oh, that!" Meg sniffed dismissively, "Kate and I both learned how to do that at college. You've no idea how ridiculous the curfews were!"

She stretched up her arms and with a deep satisfied sigh, let herself fall back into the grass. She stared at the stars overhead.

Heyes stretched out beside her. He lay propped on one elbow, watching her watch the sky.

A contented smile spread over Meg's face.

"Joshua -" she began, without looking at him.

"Uh huh?"

"That was, without a doubt, the most exciting night of my life!" she said.

He grinned and gently retrieved a piece of hay, caught in her hair.

"Must say, I found parts of it pretty stimulatin' myself."

Meeting his eyes and distrusting the teasing gleam, Meg said with dignity, "I was referring to cracking the safe."

"Well - to what did you think I was referrin'?" asked Heyes.

Again he lightly touched her hair, freeing another tangled strand of hay. This time he did not move his hand away. He cupped her cheek, thumb resting below her chin. The laughter left his eyes, as he held her gaze. Very slowly his forefinger began to stroke her cheek. The caress was so delicate it did not touch her skin, only stirred the fine layer of soft down resting upon it. Meg gave a low murmur of pleasure. Her wide eyes returned Heyes intent look, shyly, but very willingly. Lowering his face to hers, Heyes felt his breath quicken and a tiny gasp of joy escaped, as he felt Meg's fingers first brush the length of his throat and then twine softly amongst the hair at the nape of his neck. With the edge of his thumb, he applied the gentlest of touches to Meg's chin, to part her lips. Her breath stirred, warm against his skin, against his mouth.

He saw her eyes close, in anticipation of his kiss.

Heyes stopped.

He drew back his head an inch or two, struggling with himself.

"Meg," he breathed.

She opened her eyes.

"That wish list of yours - what you're looking for in a man -" Heyes continued, "- are you holding out for the full package?"

Meg felt her heart sink. She gulped, but stood by her ethics.

"Yes," she said, in a very small but firm voice.

Heyes was still softly stroking her cheek.

She met his gaze as he said, "Any man who doesn't think you're worth everything on that list and more, is a fool -" he paused, "But -"

"But -" agreed Meg, regretfully.

"Even if I could be that kind of man one day, right now, circumstances are kinda against it."

She nodded and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat.

"Besides -" went on Heyes, "- Thaddeus always tells me I make lousy coffee."

"Oh, well then! That's that!" said Meg, with a brave attempt at a smile, "Like I said this afternoon - good coffee has to be a given."

There was a short silence. Meg reached up to gently clasp the hand still stroking her face.

"Thank you, Joshua."

"For what?" he asked, surprised.

"For not wanting me to get hurt," she said earnestly. Then with another wavering smile, she went on, "After all, if I'd got really fond of you - and only then found out the bad news about the coffee - it would be awfully disappointing."

Heyes looked at her for a long moment.

"You give me too much credit, Meg," he said, seriously, "If I let myself get used to us - drinking coffee - together; it wouldn't be only you getting hurt when I had to leave."

He gave her hand a final squeeze and rolled away, onto his back, to gaze at the stars.

Meg sat up, clasped her knees and resumed staring into the darkness.

For a full five minutes the only sound was an occasional soft harrumph from one of the tethered horses. Meg broke the silence.

"Joshua," she said, "Are you thinking about the same thing as me?"

Heyes was mentally replaying the last fifteen minutes with an alternative ending. One where he displayed less honesty and moral fibre. One in which Meg discovered exactly where being properly kissed by a man who both really meant it and wasn't expecting to be interrupted by a shotgun any second, could lead.

Unseen by her, he grinned wickedly, as he replied, "I kinda doubt it, Meg. Why – what are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how close together were the deaths of Louis Hamilton and that maid."


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN **

**Late morning, Saturday 16th June 1883 **

Used to misspent nights, breaking safes and escaping afterwards; a few hours sleep, a bath and a shave, quite restored the partners. Shortly before noon, they emerged from their hotel. Blinking in the strong sunlight, they heard themselves being hailed.

"Thaddeus. Joshua."

It was Kate. Escorted by the town sheriff and accompanied by a clearly smitten young clerk, she was coming out of the post office. They crossed over the street to join her, touching their hats and nodding to the Sheriff, who returned the gesture impassively. Kate beamed warmly at Kid, then looked, rather warily, at Heyes.

Her eyes asked, 'Are we friends again?"

Heyes gave her his most charming smile, swept off his hat and catching up her hand brought it to his lips.

"Always a pleasure, Kate," he said.

"Have you remembered you're both invited to lunch?" she asked.

"Depends. Have you remembered to cook?" he countered.

"Frankly, no! But I can pick up a couple of cold chickens, ham and loaves, on the way home, if you don't mind it being a bit of a picnic," Kate said, adding, "Meg remembered. She's baked a huge apple pie. But her pies are a bit hit and miss. You might be lucky. She certainly looked very smug when it went in the oven. And there's plenty of cream, in the ice box."

"Dunno," grinned Heyes, "What do you think, Thaddeus? Happy to make do, with nothin' better'n cold chicken and hit or miss pie? Or shall we turn round - head back to the hotel?"

"Anything's OK," said Kid, "I mean - that all sounds just fine, ma-am."

She turned to the Sheriff, with a grateful smile, "It was so kind of you to escort me, Sheriff, but I needn't take up any more of your time. Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones will accompany me home."

The Sheriff touched his hat to her, "Mrs. Connor. Boys," and turned back in the direction of his office.

That just left Ned, the young clerk. His mouth had fallen open, in envious admiration, watching Heyes kiss Kate's hand, with such casual assurance and tease her, so light-heartedly. A week shy of his sixteenth birthday, he could not imagine ever joking about turning down a chance to visit with Mrs. Connor, even if she was serving boot leather with horse manure on the side.

Failing utterly to meet Kate's eyes for more than a second, he stammered, "W-w-would you like me to carry that parcel for you, Mrs. Connor, ma-am?"

As well as an empty shopping basket, Kate was carrying a large envelope. Bulky certainly - but scarcely warranting the term 'parcel'.

"That's very obliging of you, Mr. Kingsley," said Kate, with her kindest smile, "but it's not at all heavy. And I'm sure you must be very busy."

Ned coloured to the tips of his ears, at being called 'Mr. Kingsley', as if Mrs. Connor thought him fully grown up.

"Pa won't mind," he croaked, not entirely correct, judging by the frown directed at the back of his head from the middle-aged man at the window of the depot. "I could carry the groceries for you, ma-am."

"Thank you. But there's really no need."

Ned still lingered, glancing from his boots, to Kate and back again.

"We'll manage, somehow, between the three of us," said Kid, not unkindly. He took the envelope from Kate and tucked it under his own arm. Still flushing, Ned returned indoors.

Heyes watched him go.

"Poor lad," he sighed. "Awkward age. Just think Thaddeus, can you remember the days when you were green and foolish enough to nurse a crush like that on a staid, old, married woman like Kate?"

He tucked Kate's hand into his arm and shook his head, sadly. Kid threw his partner a swift look, with such a mixture of threat and earnest entreaty, that a repentant Heyes, flashed him an unspoken apology.

"Oh, I know," said Kate, "I remember my first crush. I was nearly fourteen. My stepmother hired a young émigré student, for French conversation twice a week - to perfect my accent and correct my idiom. The only English words he ever said to me were,

'Good morning, Miss Thornton. Today our topic will be -,'

whatever it was; And, at the end of the hour,

'Good day, Miss Thornton. Please convey my respectful compliments to Mrs. Thornton.'

But any time my governess left the room; my heart would skip a beat. I used to think - perhaps this time, this time he'll say something. He never did." Kate sighed wistfully, at the foolishness of her younger self. "Looking back - he was nothing special. He was just - there. That's the trouble for poor Ned Kingsley. There are so few young girls in Butte - he has to daydream about someone. In a couple of months, he'll wonder what he ever saw in me."

By this time, they had strolled far enough to be out of sight of the post office. Checking up and down the street for watching eyes, Kate reached up and quickly kissed Heyes on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, taken aback.

"What was that for?" asked Kid in unison. Taken aback and disgruntled.

"Mostly to say 'thank you' for last night. Meg told me everything." Kate beamed at Heyes with sisterly approval, "Partly because I'm so happy. Emerson regained consciousness earlier this morning."

"That's great, Kate," said Heyes.

"Glad to hear that," echoed Kid.

Still beaming, Kate broke away to go into the butchers, leaving the partners to await her in the street.

Kid was not sure which disconcerted him more. The fact that Heyes was clearly so much in favour; or the fact that his partner seemed, for once, to be thoroughly thrown off balance.

"What was that for?" repeated Kid.

Heyes shrugged and squinted off into the distance, not facing his partner.

"Guess Meg's been talkin'," he ventured.

Kid made the dismissive sound, difficult to spell, but usually rendered as 'Pfffttt!' in dime novels.

"Knew that without askin'! What's she talkin' about that I don't know?" He narrowed his eyes at Heyes, "Did somethin' happen in the woods, while I was returnin' the nitro and pump where they belonged?"

"Absolutely nothin' happened," said Heyes, firmly. He met his partner's gaze, briefly, "Reckon that's pretty much why I got kissed, just now!"

Kid frowned. Light dawned.

"Oh," he said. He watched Heyes, again squint at the horizon, "Ah."

Heyes, hands on hips, kicked up a little dirt from the street with the toe of his boot.

"You do realise, Kid, the more we behave like the kinda men Meg and Kate expect us to be - the less chance we have, with either of 'em. All the honesty, moral fibre and unselfish concern for their happiness, in the world - it's not goin' to get us anywhere?"

"Yup," said Kid. Then, carefully, he added, "Not that I want to get anywhere. I never even thought about it."

Heyes threw him a sceptical glance.

"Truth," declared Kid firmly. Deciding he owed his partner a little return honesty, he said, "I'm concentratin' so hard on not thinkin' - don't have time!"

Kate emerged from the butchers and with a brief smile, vanished into the bakery.

Kid kicked up a little dirt of his own.

"Suppose it's a bit like goin' straight - times when you think amnesty'll never arrive. It kinda has to be its own reward." He joined Heyes in squinting at the horizon. "Ain't it enough?" he asked.

"Nope!" said Heyes, baldly, "But reckon it beats all hell outta the alternative. Meg comin' to think I'm a skunk and me knowing she's right."

Kid grinned, wryly, "Look on the bright side - once the governor comes through - how long will it take you to find another girl, who can talk Hannibal Heyes to a standstill, without even tryin' and has a natural flair for crackin' safes? Can't be more'n - what - another thirty years?"

Heyes screwed up his face and nodded, in agreement, "Forty at most. An' Kate - find better'n her anywhere! Nice, kind nature - but what use is a woman who forgets to cook lunch? That impression she did of me - wasn't funny! An' you have to admit, the face might be easy on the eye - but she's kinda on the fat side."

Kid opened his mouth to protest that every curve on Kate was perfect, saw his partner's laughing eyes and subsided.

Kate rejoined them, the basket now full. Heyes took it from her, leaving Kid to offer her an arm, to complete the journey home.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

At the Connor house, Kate led the partners into the hall.

"Give me a moment," she asked and ran up the stairs, disappearing into the front bedroom. She reappeared a minute later, wreathed in smiles and leaned over the banister. "Please come up," she beamed.

Emerson was propped on pillows in an armchair. Bandages swathed his head and one hand. One eye was almost closed and well on the journey through the spectrum, from red, to purple/black, to yellow/green. Meg sat on a low footstool beside him.

"I hear you dragged me out - both of you. Thank you," he said simply, his voice croaking slightly, as if still scorched.

Heyes and Curry made much the same self-deprecating gestures and comments, as they had to the girls, the previous day. They sat down in the window seat, indicated by Kate. She fetched a chair, from her dressing table and settled down next to Emerson, clasping his good hand in both of hers.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" asked Kid. "You look sick as a dog."

"Feel sorry for the dog then," rasped Emerson, managing a smile, nonetheless, "I can't lie back in bed - because of the head - and can't stomach sprawling, face down, on a pillow, staring at nothing."

"He shouldn't be awake at all, by rights," said Kate, "Doctor Bell is very pleased. He must have a skull thick as a rhinoceros! I always suspected as much!" She smiled up, at her husband.

"He has twenty seven stitches!" Meg informed them, impressively.

"He came round for a few minutes, whilst it was done," added Kate, her eyes clouding at the memory. "Doctor Bell asked me to hold him still. Not that I needed to," she added, with quiet pride.

Emerson squeezed her hand.

"Don't remember more then - oh - about nine of them," he smiled, his eyes meeting hers warmly.

Heyes and Curry winced in sympathy.

"All the back of his hair is clipped off - " continued Meg, " - and there's going to be a scar - like that!" She sketched a generous zigzag in the air, "So, it'll probably grow back all crooked."

"Which is a shame," put in Kate, "Because the back of your head was one of your best features, wasn't it, Darling?"

Emerson flinched, as a laugh escaped, "Don't, it hurts."

But, the look he threw his wife, suggested he would happily put up with the pain, to be still alive, having her tease him.

"We changed the dressing this morning," said Meg, not without self-importance, "I cleaned round every stitch, with antiseptic." She mused for a moment. "I'm wearing a glove next time," she decided. "It burns."

"I noticed that," Emerson said, affably.

Kate's eyes clouded over again, thinking of how often this would be repeated.

Meg's eyes flew to Emerson's face, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Why should you be sorry? I'm very grateful, Meg," he said seriously.

She smiled. The smile turned into a mischievous grin, directed at Heyes.

"Emerson swore when I touched the first stitch with it!" she said.

"Meg!" warned Kate, quietly.

"He said **ing **! What the !! was that?" Meg finished, still looking at Heyes.

Heyes, bit his lip to hold back a laugh, but shook his head reprovingly at her. He strongly suspected Meg had not the faintest idea what she had just said. Kid, rather surprised Emerson even knew such words, glanced at Kate for her reaction. She was clearly torn between amusement and exasperation.

"Meg!" said Emerson, "That is not language fit for a lady."

"Nor a gentleman, then!"

"Nor a gentleman," he agreed, "But you and Kate have both received an apology from me." His eyes held hers and flicked to the guests.

She dropped her own gaze and had the grace to blush.

"I apologise. Please forgive me, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones." She looked up at Emerson, "I'm sorry. It's just that I worked in the same office with you, for nearly three years and never heard you say anything worse than - 'drat'." She sighed, "If I'd known any swear words, I'm sure I'd have used them, every time they sent me to get the guest list and description of the gowns, at another debutante's coming out ball."

Emerson released his good hand from Kate's grasp, for a moment, to ruffle Meg's bangs, in a gesture of affectionate, brotherly, reconciliation.

"Meg was about to tell me her villain's latest machinations when you arrived," he said, changing the subject.

Meg perked up.

"Yes," she said. "I've changed it. Because of what Joshua said about..."

Kid sniffed the air and interrupted, "Is that your pie we can smell, Meg?"

"**!" yelped Meg, leaping up. "Sorry! I mean, drat!" She ran to the door. Turning, she said, "Don't change the subject. I want to tell you about Mary-Sue's next peril!" She whisked out of the room. Descending footsteps were heard taking the stairs two at a time. Less than a minute later, a flushed Meg bounced back into the bedroom and flopped back down on the footstool.

"Burnt?" asked Kate, sympathetically.

"Not burnt - " said Meg, carefully, " - just, well browned. Caramelised at the edge. What the French would call - brulee." She glanced at the guests, "If you don't like it - brulee - I can just cut you pieces from the centre."

"I prefer it the French way," smiled Heyes. "Sure it's perfect Meg."

She smiled gratefully at him.

"You've changed your villain's machinations?" he prompted.

"Mmmm!" Meg looked from him to the Connors. "Joshua told me brothels are more usual than opium dens," she explained. "More run of the mill."

Heyes shifted in his seat, as he received a questioning look from Emerson.

"So I've decided the villain owns a house of ill-repute," went on Meg sunnily, drawing her ever present notebook from her skirt pocket, "He has captured Mary-Sue and imprisoned her there. He leaves her, saying: 'I will return this evening. Expect no mercy. No one can save you! Prepare to suffer a fate worse than death!' Then he rides away. Cackling. Or possibly glowering."

Meg clasped her hands, glowing with the pleasure of dramatic composition.

"Now the good bit," she said, "Mary-Sue explores the house of ill-repute, trembling all the while at the doom awaiting her. Rich silken hangings adorn the walls, glinting scarlet, purple, emerald and ochre. The smooth marble floor is strewn with cushions. Velvet, damask and satin. Upon them recline gossamer clad odalisques. Each more seductive than the last. Their half closed, sultry eyes kindle with desire. Searing glances dart through the snaking smoke trails made by incense, burning in gleaming, finely wrought containers."

Emerson cleared his throat.

"This house of ill-repute," he queried. "Is it here, in Montana?"

Meg blinked.

"Well, Montana or Dakota Territory. I haven't pinned it down," she said.

Heyes and Curry exchanged a glance, first with each other, then with Emerson, as Meg went on, "One odalisque, her lissom body swaying like a young sapling, leads Mary-Sue to a back chamber. Here a pool, lined with fine mosaic has been dug. Rose petals float upon the warm scented water. The odalisque -"

Kid could bear it no longer, "Odalisque?"

"Quite right, Thaddeus," agreed Emerson, with no irony whatsoever. "Although the word is often used, erroneously, to signify a concubine - the term actually refers to a junior member of the harem, occupied with purely domestic tasks. Although -" he added, fairly, "- she might, if considered physically attractive, or especially skilled in the performing arts, be undergoing training for elevation to the status of a concubine."

Kid blinked.

"That's what you thought, huh Thaddeus?" said Heyes, deadpan.

Meg drew breath.

"I think it's a picturesque term," she said firmly. "Much better than the alternatives." She picked up, where she had left off, "Rose petals float upon the warm scented water. It is explained, to a horrified Mary-Sue, that here - " she stared, challengingly, first at Kid, then at Emerson, " - chosen odalisques, clad in delicate garments, the seams gummed rather than sewn, dive for the delectation of watching patrons. The warmth of the water dissolves the paste, holding together their diaphanous coverings. Piece by piece, their flimsy draperies float away, as they frolic and splash."

Emerson interrupted again.

"Meg, is this whole section lifted from, 'An Account of Travels in the Ottoman Empire'?"

"Not lifted," said Meg, with dignity, "Adapted."

"This book -" shrugged Heyes, casually, "- may I borrow it?"

"Certainly. Are you interested in Ottoman culture and history, Joshua?" asked Emerson, pleased.

"I am now," said Heyes, avoiding his partner's eyes.

"Mary-Sue pleads with her escort," continued Meg, 'Have pity! Release me. Do not condemn me to a fate worse than death!'

'Importune me not!' replies the lovely but merciless odalisque. 'You know not what you ask. If I were to help - my own fate, would be worse than that, which now faces you!"

"A fate WORSE than a fate worse than death?" clarified Heyes, "Did you have something specific in mind, Meg?"

"An unspeakable fate!" said Meg firmly. She went on without pausing for breath, "'Not only that - ' continues the beautiful but cruel odalisque, ' - I will never help you Mary-Sue. My hatred for you is more bitter than gall. I will laugh - laugh and rejoice to see you despoiled as I am!'

'Why?' cries Mary-Sue. 'How have I injured you?'

The odalisque throws back her lovely head, her exquisite, almond shaped, dark eyes flash.

'Because - ' she exclaims, ' - you have won the heart of Hannibal Heyes! The only man I ever loved. The only man in the world capable of satisfying my bottomless, raging, tempestuous passion!'"

Heyes sat back and crossed his legs.

"Didn't see that one coming!"

Meg nodded eagerly.

"Good twist isn't it? This odalisque - let's call her Yasmeena - continues:

'I was his favoured paramour! But, since you won his love, with your spotless purity and maidenly charms - he has foresworn my bed and company. Without him in my arms, without his searing kisses - my life is a desert. My body aches, nightly, for his touch!'"

Heyes clicked his tongue in sympathy.

"Gotta feel for the poor woman."

Kid rolled his eyes and let his head fall, into his hands, as Meg continued.

"'Once you are ravished Mary-Sue, you will suffer a lingering death at my hands. When you are gone - Hannibal will be mine forever!'

'Never!' declares Mary-Sue. 'You may murder me, but Hannibal will never return to you! Nor to this house of debauchery! He has renounced sin forever!'

'By all the powers of darkness -' swears Yasmeena, '- before you die, you will know that Hannibal is once again enslaved, by my bewitching embraces! Now, until tonight - I am to lock you in a secret, enclosed, underground, chamber, secured with locks of devilish - in fact Gordian - complexity!'"

"No obvious plot signal there then!" said Emerson, drawing an appreciative laugh from Heyes.

"Meanwhile," continued Meg, frowning at both of them, "- Kid Curry is with another of the house's loveliest odalisques, in an upper chamber."

The real Kid Curry warily raised his head from his hands as Meg went on.

"This one - let's call her, Fatima, is a glorious blonde -"

Kate interrupted, "I thought we'd settled that Kid Curry was - spotless? What's he doing upstairs in a house of ill-repute with a blonde?"

"He has followed the villain, unseen, at a safe distance," explained Meg, "Posing as a customer, he has gained entry to this den of vice and plans to persuade Fatima to reveal the location of the secret underground chamber."

"Well - that may be his story!" Heyes shook his head cynically.

"It's true!" protested Meg, "Anyway, Fatima is reclining on a rich daybed strewn with vivid satin draperies. Her luxuriant golden tresses spill over the bed, their curling ends reaching to her knees. Her violet eyes entice Kid through curling dark lashes. Her moistened lips murmur endearments. One shapely ankle swings rhythmically from the end of the bed, its tiny foot swathed in a beaded velvet slipper. As it swings, her silken skirts ride up her lovely calf. The pure-hearted Kid averts his eyes from the wanton's shame. He begs her to tell him the location of the entrance to the underground chamber.

'You will never discover the entrance unaided -' breathes Fatima, '- its concealment defies human scrutiny.'

'Help me Fatima,' pleads Kid Curry. 'Help me rescue Mary-Sue.'

'Upon one condition,' bargains the radiant Fatima, leaning toward him.

'Name it,' exclaims Kid, 'I am yours to command.'

'Yield to me, Kid Curry -' demands Fatima, her violet eyes fiery with desire, '- I burn for your love. Abandon all restraint and take me here - as your paramour!'"

The real Kid Curry once again lowered his head into his hands.

"Well -" prompted Heyes, "- what does he do?"

Meg sat up straight and pushed back her bangs.

"I'm not sure," she said. "That's as far as I've got. I'm pretty confident he's going to emerge completely unstained -"

"Oh, yes," agreed Kate. "I couldn't bear it if Kid compromised his principles! He's my favourite."

"But -" said Meg, "I can't think of what he's going to say to turn Fatima down. Not without him sounding - a bit of a milksop." She looked at the partners. "If a beautiful, desirable, woman is begging you to - well -" Meg blushed faintly,"- make love; refusing to take 'no' for an answer; how do you turn her down without being either rude or pompous? What do you say?"

Kid looked up and simply stared, incredulous, at Meg.

Looking at his partner, Heyes said, "Been a coupla weeks since Thaddeus found himself in quite that position. Can he think it over - come back to you?"

She turned, not very optimistically, to Emerson. His expression was not much different to that worn by Kid.

Kate could not resist.

"Well -" she said hesitatingly.

Meg looked at her, hopefully, pencil hovering.

"He could say -" went on Kate, she lowered her voice, in a more than passable imitation of her husband "- 'I'll be right there, Darling. Just give me a few minutes to finish this article.' Then fall asleep at his desk."

Emerson blushed scarlet to the tips of his ears.

"Kate!" he protested, watching her shoulders shake with laughter. He hissed in a rapid undertone, not fully audible to the others, "...NOT funny...in front of ... happened once, ONCE!...ever going to let me forget?..…"

As she watched her friend wipe her eyes, Meg huffed, "Well - that's no help! I need something heroic!" Watching Emerson subside as Kate recaptured his hand and dropped on it a conciliatory, if not particularly repentant, kiss; she said, "Come on, Emerson! You're a writer too! I always try and help when you're stuck."

"Well -," he said, slowly, "- can he say something like -," Meg's pencil poised ready to take dictation, as Emerson began, "Full expression of physical love is properly reserved within bonds of matrimony. It is incumbent upon honourable men to exercise restraint, even under temptation, in view of the heavy price, borne mainly by the woman, consequent upon lapses in this area. This disproportionate outcome, is dictated partially by biology, but also by unfairly asymmetric mores, held by most sections of society. When I rescue -"

Emerson halted and looked at his wife for help.

"Mary-Sue," she supplied.

"When I rescue Mary-Sue, it would be my privilege to also free you - er -"

"Fatima," said Kate.

"- to free you, Fatima, from any bondage, or threat, holding you in this den of iniquity. Furthermore, I will take personal responsibility for ensuring you are offered opportunities to earn your livelihood without ever again being forced to submit to work within this shameful and exploitative trade. Not that the shame should be yours, my dear sister in adversity! No the guilt lies with the men who have brought you to this pass! It is one of the scandals of our age that the very society which traffics in -"

"Thank you," said Meg, firmly, "I've got the gist."

Heyes glanced at her notebook. It was as blank as before.

"Was that any use?" Emerson asked, doubtfully.

"The sentiments were perfect," said Kate, kindly, "That's exactly how we both imagine Kid thinking. The problem was just with -," she searched.

"The words!" finished Meg, baldly, "He's supposed to be taciturn!"

"Huh?" said the real Kid.

"A man of few words," translated Kate, with a kind smile.

"In that case -" took up Emerson, "- does he have to say anything? Can he refuse Fatima with a noble, though not unkindly, gesture; while wearing an expression of firm manly resolve?"

"Ooohh!" said Meg, intrigued. "It's a thought."

"You could switch the focus to Fatima, let her do the talking." chimed in Kate, helpfully, "Whilst Kid oozes firm, manly resistance to temptation - you describe the allurements by which she tries to overcome his resolve."

"I like that," encouraged Meg, scribbling, "but -," she looked up, suddenly worried, "- Fatima has already narrowed her eyes and moistened her lips." Meg's face puckered into a frown, "That's about shot my allurement bolt! What else can she do?" She looked up enquiringly.

The men in the room made gestures indicative of reluctance to hazard an opinion.

"Let us have the description of Fatima again," requested Kate. Her friend complied. "Is Kid sitting down?" was Kate's next question.

"Can be," decided Meg.

"Well -" said Kate, "- why not have Fatima, with a delicate flick; loose the beaded velvet slipper - letting it fall softly to the floor. Then let her hold his eyes, smile enticingly and run her rosy tipped toes the full length of his inner thigh, bringing her warm, naked foot to rest, gently in his lap?"

Both partners shifted in their seats, recrossing their legs in unison.

Meg blinked at her notebook.

"Would that work?" she queried, looking at Heyes.

"Yup!" he said, simply.

"Absolutely! Every time," concurred Kate, with supreme confidence.

"Kate!" murmured Emerson, warningly, as a telltale blush again swept from throat to forehead.

"I'll use that then!" said Meg. She snapped shut her notebook and returned it to her skirt pocket. She took a satisfied breath and smiled at both partners.

"What's in the envelope, Thaddeus?" she asked.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Kid looked at the envelope he had laid down on taking his seat.

"It's not mine," he said, handing it over to Kate.

"Oh, I forgot!" she exclaimed, "I think it's from Jimmy back at the Boston Enquirer."

"Kate!" huffed Meg, "That means it'll be background he discovered on Hamilton or Carleton. There could be a clue. How could you forget?"

"I'm sorry," Kate smiled up at Emerson, gently squeezing his hand, "I can't imagine what else I had to think about!"

"Humph," sniffed her friend, taking the envelope and beginning to tear it open. She moved her eyes to Heyes, "What about you –" sternly, "– did you remember to bring the notes you made?"

He smiled, producing last night's notebook, from his jacket, "You gotta have faith, Meg."

She grinned back and shifted her footstool so she could sit beside him. Sliding the documents from the envelope, she roughly divided them, passing half up to Heyes.

"Let me know at once if anything sounds odd, so I can look," she instructed, bending over the first document still in her own hand.

"Yes ma-am!"

Meg eyed him, not missing the implication of bossiness. "Or if it seems to contradict what we found last night," she ordered even more firmly. "And don't skip!"

The former leader of the notorious Devil's Hole gang blinked, "No ma-am!"

Kid looked at Emerson, warily, then at Meg.

"So he knows what you were up to last night?" he asked, in an undertone.

"Emerson knows I broke into the safe out at West Hill last night," she confirmed, "– and, of course, that you two helped a little." she added, fairly.

Kid shifted his attention to Kate.

"And that –" he paused.

"And that I stole a Bryant pump and a selection of blasting gear from the mine company. And that I was Meg's –" Kate raised her chin proudly, "- backup. Well, until you took over." She smiled up at her husband. "Of course he knows. I tell him everything, don't I darling?"

"Several times, usually," he confirmed with a teasing smile. He looked over at Kid, "I'm not sure I understood it all. I can't see how Meg expected to set off the nitro without waking everybody up."

"I didn't," said Meg, bluntly, as she laid aside a transcript of an article starting 'Copper Strike in Montana'. "I meant to open the window ready, pack up in advance, then grab all the documents I could see and sprint like crazy. Everyone's natural reaction would be to run toward the smoke. By the time they stopped panicking – I'd have been hidden in the trees." She looked at Heyes, "I'm very fast!" she said with simple pride.

"I saw that at the fire," he smiled at her appreciatively, looking up from an account of Hamilton's gold mining success in the Black Hills.

Kid frowned at Emerson.

"Don't you have a problem with this?" he demanded.

"Well –" said Emerson, carefully, aware of two pairs of feminine eyes watching him challengingly, "– it scores highly for initiative and imagination. But I have to say, I don't think it was a sensible plan."

Kid crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. His glance at both girls suggested 'Told you so!'

Seeing Meg about to defend the stratagem with a full volley of fluent argument, Emerson forestalled her, "For a start – I'm pretty sure I was deliberately knocked on the head and it's not hard to believe Carleton's behind it; -" he winced and raised his good hand, to his brow.

"Don't try and remember," said Kate, gently, "The Doctor says it'll come back naturally over the next few days."

He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, then went on, "– But we don't know it's because of anything he has to hide. Certainly, nothing I've found out. And even if it was – I can't imagine what these two expected to find in his safe!"

"Apart from the diary beginning 'I am a Napoleon of crime and here I record my sinister secret for posterity.'?" said Heyes, seriously.

Emerson grinned at Heyes in sympathetic understanding of being on the receiving end of Meg's imagination.

"Apart from the evil mastermind's journal, obviously!" he agreed.

Watching Kid's perturbed expression, his partner saw they were moments away from him asking why Kate's husband, was not furiously insisting she promise to stay out of danger; and why Meg's brother-in-all-but-name, was not demanding to know, why they had not simply dragged her straight home last night. Heyes suspected this would not go down well with anyone.

He coughed and spoke up, to divert attention, "What are you reading now, Meg?"

"A report on the wedding of Oliver Carleton and Lydia Hamilton," she said, "- doesn't appear useful, though. The dates agree – August 1872." She gave a little shudder, "When I think of all the time I spent writing things like this…

'the bride wore a gown of heavy ivory satin, the skirt abundantly draped with Valenciennes lace, caught at one side with a spray of velvet roses, bedewed with glass beading to simulate dewdrops. The hem was trimmed with a triple layer of pleated grosgrain, which also formed the train. More velvet roses bedecked this, interwoven in an embroidered trellis worked in silver thread.'"

Meg cast a critical glance at Kate, "She's only my height. She must have looked like a walking bundle of laundry."

Meg read on, silently for a moment.

"Quite a society affair," she remarked. "St. Paul's."

"Really?" said Kate, surprised,

"Mmm. A full guest list given. Six bridesmaids. Matron of honour - in deep amber satin – Mrs. Edward Cholmondley."

"Charlotte Cholmondley, matron of honour!" exclaimed Kate, "Good heavens – she's one of my stepmother's oldest friends." She thought for a minute, "I wouldn't have thought she had anything in common with Lydia Carleton. She's – " Kate stopped short, clearly working on the 'if you can't say anything pleasant –' rule.

"Disdainful. Contemptuous. Sneering," supplied Meg, bluntly, "Dismissive of anyone without money, breeding and connections. Liable to leave a journalist, sent to take a report of her silly musical recital, standing for three solid hours without being offered so much as a seat, a cup of tea or a civil word!"

"Don't beat about the bush, Meg," urged Emerson, "If you don't like the woman, just say so!"

"Well," went on Kate, mildly, "The point being, Lydia Carleton isn't quite –" she stopped short again, this time flushing faintly.

Meg agreed, "Oh no, she isn't a –" before she too, caught back her words and blushed.

Heyes wondered what the joint creators of Fatima, the glorious and enticing blonde, found so embarrassing, they were struck dumb.

Meg turned over to an obituary of Louis Hamilton and cleared her throat, "What about you, Joshua? What have you got there?"

"An account of some party Hamilton threw for his sister – back when she was eighteen," he said.

"Not a coming out ball?" shuddered Meg, "Was she fresh and youthful in spotless white muslin; or smiling and unspoilt in a cloud of white organza spangled with seed pearls?"

Heyes frowned, "Says – layers of illusion floatin' over tambour worked –" He broke off impatiently, "Did you really get paid to write this kinda stuff, Meg?"

"Not that one obviously. But dozens like it!" she grimaced.

"Who the Sam Hill wanted to read it?"

"The girl's family," Emerson told him, "They pay for the announcements – so much per inch." He added, "I swapped assignments once and wrote one for you, didn't I Meg?"

"No," she said bluntly, "You offered to take my place, because you knew Kate was going to be there, without Mrs. Thornton. You never wrote the piece."

"I did!"

"You didn't!" she insisted, "You wrote the name of the debutante, date, venue; then veered off into an – admittedly scholarly - couple of paragraphs about dance as courtship ritual. There were also two hundred words on the differing significance of white as a symbolic colour across cultures. I said 'what was the girl wearing - don't say "white" because I knew that without asking - and how was her mother dressed?' – and you gaped like a codfish."

"That was the night he proposed," sighed Kate.

"You never let me propose. We strolled out to that gazebo. I went down on one knee, said 'Miss Thornton –' and you slid down, off the bench and kissed me." Emerson cast a wry glance at Heyes, "By the time she let go, it seemed impolite to explain, I was only down there looking for a dropped cufflink!"

Kate twinkled up at him, "Just practicing the editing, darling. If I hadn't shut you up, you'd still have been kneeling there, in full flow, when my chaperone came to drag me back inside."

"Can this go on the 'no use' pile, Meg?" said Heyes, "It's just stuff about guests and flowers and where she went to school."

"Where?" asked Kate.

"Miss Hamilton makes her debut after two years completin' her education at the – " unsure, Heyes coughed, to gain a moment before attempting, " – Institut des Trimountaine."

"Institut des Trimountaine!" repeated Kate, displaying perfect French inflection, "She can't have gone there! Certainly not for two years!"

"You've made a mistake, Joshua," pronounced Meg, taking the sheet from him.

"I can read you know!"

"He's right!" she confirmed, a moment later. She flashed him an apologetic glance, "Sorry. It's just difficult to believe."

"Impossible!" confirmed Kate.

"Why?" asked Kid.

Both turned to face him.

"When Kate said 'How do you do?' on Wednesday, Mrs. Carleton replied, 'Very well, thank you.'" started Meg, "After I was introduced, she said 'Pleased to make your acquaintance.' Then, she referred to her brother's death as 'passing on'," concluded Meg, as if that clinched the matter.

"Well," Kid frowned, confused, "What's wrong with that?"

"There's absolutely NOTHING wrong with any of that," said Kate, firmly, "None of it matters in the slightest. BUT – " she went on " – that is NOT the opinion of the institutrices employed at Trimountaine. If Lydia Hamilton had said 'pardon me' whilst there, the roof would have fallen in on her head!"

"It's very exclusive, very expensive and specialises in ensuring its girls can be successfully launched into the marriage mart, not only here, but seamlessly in English society, if their parents hanker after a title," explained Meg, "And Kate knows, because she was walled up in the place, for six months, before her father finally agreed, to let her go to a college actually teaching something useful." She mused on the word 'useful', for a moment, "Well, something other than feminine accomplishments."

"It wasn't a complete waste of time," smiled Kate, "Whenever the Postmaster General, the Librarian of Congress, the Chief Justice, the Bishop of Winchester, a former Vice-President and a Knight of St. Patrick all call, unexpectedly – I'll know where to seat them at dinner."

"Of course – someone would have to take the non matching plate," said Emerson.

"And I can curtsey all the way to the floor, then walk backwards wearing a three foot train and carrying a pile of books on my head," she added.

"Which will help pass the long winter evenings if we get snowed in," mused her husband.

"The point is -" said Meg, confused, "– I don't see how the woman I met on Wednesday could have gone to that school, made a debut reported in the society pages of the Boston Weekly Enquirer and had Mrs. 'you are not here as a guest, young woman!' Cholmondeley as her matron of honour."

Heyes met Meg's eyes, smiled quizzically at her, raised an eyebrow and waited. She did not let him down. Less than two seconds later, he saw matching understanding, sweep across her face.

"Oh!" she gasped, "Oh – you are clever, Joshua!"

Emerson and Kate were not far behind.

"Oh!" breathed Kate. "So the woman living out at West Hill isn't -?"

"Good heavens!" chimed in Emerson, catching up fast. Very fast; in view of the fact he had only the explanations both girls had given earlier; and a cracked skull, to work with. "That's –," he searched.

"Labyrinthine?" ventured Kid, with whom light was dawning more slowly – but nonetheless surely.

"Labyrinthine! The very word!" exclaimed Emerson, "Thaddeus, I do envy your invariable faculty for expressing yourself with linguistic economy."

"Uh huh?" said Heyes, eyeing his partner, "Just a knack he has."

oooOOOOOOOooo---

Heyes began to pace.

Somewhat to Kid's relief he also began to fill in a few blanks.

"So Carleton gets a message that his brother-in-law, his RICH brother-in-law, is dyin'. He want's to see his baby sister before he goes. They set out from Chicago. Carleton slaverin' at the thought of all that money!

Mrs. Carleton, bein' brought up as fancy as Kate, but not bein' as –" he smiled appreciatively at her, "– adaptable – brings along a maid to save her the trouble of lacin' her own boots and brushin' her own hair."

"Yes, I hope you appreciate how much I'm roughing it - having to do that kind of heavy work myself," pouted Kate, teasingly, to Emerson.

"Its winter – a mild winter – nothin' like '81, but the journey still takes a coupla weeks," went on Heyes, "They get as far as Medora. Arrive at a hotel. The staff see two women – both in their thirties, like as not both short and mousy. Both well wrapped up against the cold. Then – disaster - there's an accident."

"Or – not an accident!" speculated Meg, darkly.

"There's an incident!" amended Heyes, smiling at her, "Carleton's wife is injured! Either he knows she's not likely to make it – or for some reason he's plannin' she's not goin' to make it! He calls for a doctor. Thinks of the richest copper strike ever made slippin' through his fingers! He says – 'Our maid has had a fall!' The wife dies. She gets buried under the name 'Ellen Fraser'. The maid goes along with it. Takes her place." Heyes paused in his pacing, "Why?"

There was a short silence.

Emerson broke it, "Stripped of extraneous detail, the motives for crime are do not usually vary from a few common themes."

The two ex-outlaws exchanged a glance and waited for him to continue.

"There is greed," he went on.

"He's paying her," mused Meg.

"There is revenge. There is love. Or -" Emerson flushed faintly, "– perhaps a more accurate term would be passion."

"She's his –" Meg also hesitated with momentary embarrassment, "– paramour. It IS his baby!" she looked triumphantly at Kid, "NOT Emerson's! AND he isn't impotent!"

"What?" exclaimed Emerson, jerking upright, then wincing as it was again borne upon him how much it hurt to move his head.

"Believe me –" said Heyes, sympathetically, "– you really don't wanna know!"

"I am NOT –"

"No, not you darling," soothed Kate, "Oliver Carleton. And Joshua's right – you really don't want to know."

Emerson closed his eyes and decided his wife was right – he did not want to know. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Finally, there is fear; fear of the likely results of NOT committing the crime."

"He's threatening her!" brooded Meg. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Heyes, "If she does not comply with his evil deceptions, she faces – "

"An unspeakable fate," completed Heyes, winning an appreciative grin.

He resumed pacing, "Carleton and his fake wife continue on to Butte. They wire for news of Hamilton and make sure they arrive just too late for him to see his 'sister'. No one here has ever met her. That includes the lawyers in Helena.

Chris Lloyd mighta seen a weddin' photo – but Carleton's prepared to take the risk. He's trustin' eleven years, change in hair style, fancy clothes and the fact that most photographs make anyone look like a stuffed shop dummy - will be enough."

"And," said Meg, "The substitute Mrs. Carleton, stays home, stays quiet and doesn't encourage visitors. Which isn't hard – because Butte is not richly stocked with respectable, feminine society. So no one really bothers with her."

"Except you," said Heyes, looking at Kate.

"Well – a few visits," concurred Kate, "I would never have returned except – the first time – April – " she looked up at Emerson, "- you remember, darling, for a few weeks I felt ill most mornings?" He nodded and stroked her cheek tenderly for a moment, "– well, during my visit, I became indisposed. 'Mrs. Carleton' was transformed. She guessed we were expecting a baby too and was so kind. She put my feet up on the sofa, laid a cool cloth on my forehead and fetched some ginger in water – which was horrid, but it worked. Then she became quite talkative – only about baby clothes and names - but still, it made me realise, how lonely she must be."

"All this talking about names wasn't very productive. She still called it, 'Oliver the second'," said Meg, "I hate that." A wary look crossed her face, "I haven't put my foot in it? You're not planning on, 'Emerson Junior'?"

"Certainly not!" said Emerson, "I loved my parents dearly, but still can't understand what came over them, at the font."

An expression, which Meg would certainly have stigmatised as 'broody', settled on his face, "I like 'Miranda'," he sighed, "– or maybe, 'Rosalind'."

"Rosalind is real pretty," approved Kid, with a pensive look of his own.

Meg rolled her eyes.

"Both gonna get him pretty beat up, by other boys," said Heyes, deadpan.

Emerson came out of his reverie and acknowledged this with a rather sheepish grin.

Heyes continued, "So – Ellen Fraser lays low out at West Hill – answerin' to 'Lydia Carleton'. But she's tempted into a coupla harmless feminine conversations with Kate. She probably doesn't tell Carleton."

Kate nodded in agreement, "I took a little gift after baby Oliver was born." She looked self-conscious, "It was nothing. A sketch for the nursery – but you could see she was touched. Anyway, the point is, Joshua is right – because she hurried me out. Told me she expected her husband home any moment – and would I please excuse her?"

"Right," said Heyes, "Now we come to last Wednesday. West Hill. A message is brought in – 'Mrs. Connor has called, ma-am.' Carleton is out – " he glanced at Meg, with a smile, " – either grindin' the faces of poor, but honest, mineworkers; else checkin' on the profits, from his dens of vice. So, Ellen perks up, at the thought of a little baby talk, with that nice, kind Mrs. Connor. Let's her in. Too late realises – she's not alone – and it's not just a social call." Heyes put his hands on his hips and looked at Kate, "You told her, your husband had asked you to find out about her brother. Asked about her time back East. Asked where they'd been born. Where they'd lived. Who were his friends.

Asked for a few childhood memories. Huh?"

Kate nodded, looking stricken.

He went on, "You introduced your friend – fresh from Boston." A thought struck him, "Was it the first time you told her exactly where you're from?"

Kate's face puckered, confused, "I'm not sure. It wasn't a secret, but I don't remember whether it had come up before."

Heyes turned to Meg. "And you –" he grinned, "– you just talked her ear off, huh?" He opened his eyes artlessly wide, shook his hair forward and clasped his hands together, looking up, from under the makeshift bangs.

"'I worked on the Boston Enquirer. I'm an investigative journalist. I AM!

Well except I have to write reports of fancy weddings and balls.

So I know ALL about good society.

You won't be able to hide your humble origins from me. Oh no!

But the point is - I'm still a real journalist.

AND now – I'm Emerson's assistant editor, here in Butte. I AM!

AND I write detective novels.

So, if anyone has sinister secrets to hide – watch out.

My friend Jimmy, back at the Boston office, he'll search the archives for us – won't he Kate?

Oooh – do you think he'll uncover anything interesting about you, Mrs. Carleton?

Does your husband keep a journal, Mrs. Carleton?

Is he a Napoleon of crime?

Does he have evil machinations?

Is he inadequate?

Does he run opium?"

By this time Meg also had her hands on her hips, as she squared up to Heyes, open mouthed and wide eyed with affronted dignity.

"I do NOT talk that much!" she protested.

"Pfffttt!" said Kid dismissively, having found the word so useful earlier.

"Perfect economy of expression again, Thaddeus," admired Emerson.

Meg deflated slightly, "Well – I didn't say ANY of that!"

Heyes smiled at her, brown eyes affectionately warm. He waited, confident his Meg could take teasing, as well as dish it out.

She grinned, ruefully. "I didn't say ALL of that," she temporised. She thought for a moment, bit her bottom lip and turned to Kate.

"Oh dear," she gulped, glancing at Emerson.

"Oh dear," agreed Kate. She turned to her husband, "I'm afraid this is all my fault, darling. It wasn't you about to find something out. It was me. I should have been hit on the head – but you were easier to reach. How unfair!"

Kid was watching Kate. But as she said this, he glanced up at Emerson. He saw a fleeting look of real fear cross the man's face, for the first time.

"If Carleton had offered me the alternative, I'd have volunteered," he said.

"I know that," replied Kate, simply, "But you know I would too."

Kid looked away, cleared his throat and prompted his partner.

"So, Kate an' Meg leave. Mrs. Carleton, I mean, the fake one – panics. They don't suspect now – but much more diggin' into the past an' they just might."

"Right," said Heyes, "Carleton comes home – she tells hims. Or he sees her all riled an' shakes it outta her. He wants to get Emerson to call his wife an' Meg off – without lettin' on why. Tries to buy him out. Tries to scare him back East. No dice. Then thinks he'll shut down the paper some other way. Sets a gun on Emerson. He has a back up plan, case that don't work. Takes himself outta the way to Anaconda. A widowed Mrs. Connor isn't likely to carry on alone. She certainly won't be followin' up background on a deceased mine owner. Most likely she'll leave Butte once her husband's buried, takin' Meg with her." Heyes gave his partner a serious look, "That was Thursday night, Friday morning. By now, he probably knows we got in the way both times. Less he's a fool he knows we're workin' on the 'why?' He's due back Monday. Might speed it up."

Kid nodded, frowning. He met Heyes' eyes.

"What we gonna do 'bout it? Have you got us a plan?"

Meg looked at Heyes, "If we know the truth – do we need a plan, Joshua? Can't we just – tell the Sheriff? Have Mr. Carleton arrested. Leave it to the authorities."

Kid's expression conveyed little enthusiasm for Meg's suggestion.

"Tell the Sheriff – what?" he asked.

"That – the real Mrs. Carleton is dead and buried," said Meg, "That Mr. Carleton doesn't have any claim on the mine. He's swindling Mr. Lloyd the real owner. That he's guilty of attempted murder. That he might already have killed his wife."

Kid still looked reluctant, as he glanced first at Heyes, then back at Meg.

"An' when he says 'Got anythin' to back that up fella?' –" he asked, sceptically, "– we say, 'Yup – the woman out at West Hill, holds her teacup wrong and can't walk backwards, with a book on her head!' – that the plan?"

Meg opened her mouth, realised Kid might have a point, closed it and looked at Heyes, for guidance.

"The thing is Meg," he said. "Thaddeus is right. I don't think the Sheriff is goin' to be too impressed bein' offered fine points of etiquette as evidence. Reckon he's goin' to want somethin' more – solid – before he'll move against the richest man in town."

Meg frowned, "There's the death certificate in the safe."

"Sayin' what? It just confirms it was the maid that died. An' that the accident was reported fair and square in Medora," Heyes explained, gently.

"And," said Kid, "– you might not wanna draw attention to how we know what's in the safe." He coughed and held his partner's eyes, "The sheriff might take a bit too much interest in – Meg – if he knows she can open a safe, without so much as a firecracker. Might not believe in beginner's luck."

The two ex-outlaws exchanged a mute conversation. They had an unspoken agreement with the Sheriff, 'Might not believe in 'Smith an' Jones', respectable payroll guards – but won't be pursuin' it less there's a reason.'

Finding out that not only was blond Thaddeus Jones the quickest draw ever seen in town; but that his dark partner could crack safes, by manipulating the tumblers; - might just be reason enough.

"What we need," said Kate, "is someone who knew the real Lydia Carleton by sight. We could telegraph to her trustees, in Boston, have them send someone out. Or they could give us a contact in Chicago."

It was Heyes turn to look reluctant.

"Long journey. It might be summer now – but still gonna take a while for anyone to arrive. Even a good clear photograph – just say there is one – isn't gonna get here in less'n a week. A lot can happen in a week."

"Yes indeed," said Meg, with a worried look at her two friends. Clutching her hands together, she looked up, eyes full of entreaty, "Couldn't you stay? Please. Please say yes, Joshua?" Seeing his expression change, she felt her cheeks grow hot. Suddenly hesitant, she dropped her gaze unable to meet his eyes, "Just for a week, I meant. Both of you. To be our lookouts. If – if circumstances aren't too much against it?" In a very small voice she added, "I know it's a lot to ask. But I'd – we'd – feel so much safer."

She did not raise her eyes, but saw a tanned hand reach over and briefly clasp both of hers.

Quietly, in the gentle voice she recognised from the woods last night, he said, "You don't have to ask. I'm goin' nowhere till you're safe."

He cleared his throat and went on in his normal tone, "Anyway, it's not just the people in this room I'm thinkin' of, when I say, a lot can happen in a week." He began to pace again.

"Carleton's not a fool. He doesn't think anyone's worked out his 'wife's' an imposter. But there's a risk – they might. Now, he's just had a son. A son, in whose name he can milk every last penny outta this mine, for the next twenty-one years. The only piece of evidence against him; the only person who's a real danger, is currently walkin' round West Hill, cooin' over that new baby." Heyes gave Kid a very straight look, "You're Carleton – you're a skunk – whaddya goin' to do?"

Kid thought for a moment. His face hardened, as he realised what Heyes feared.

He said, "I'm goin' to get rid of the evidence. If anyone sends to Boston or Chicago – it won't matter. Nothin' to see – leastways, nothin' you could recognise."

Kate gasped, "Joshua, is that really what you think will happen?"

Heyes nodded, "Pretty much."

Kid met his eyes, "Brings me back where I started. What are we gonna do 'bout it?"

His partner frowned. Curry could see his mind at work.

Meg opened her mouth, to offer a suggestion and received a peremptory 'shush' from Kid. He gave her a 'let him think', look. Rather to his surprise, she subsided, watching Heyes with the hopeful look of a cat, waiting by a mouse hole.

There was a minute's silence.

It was broken by Kate, who said, very quietly, "We have to warn her."

Her husband squeezed her hand approvingly.

Heyes looked at Kate thoughtfully, his brain still turning.

Finally, he nodded, "We go see her. Test the waters. If it seems she might listen - we warn her. The woman Kate describes don't sound exactly a hardened criminal. Never know. She could have no idea 'bout the hired gun, 'bout the fire. I fill her in, she might see sense – turn him in."

"Don't think she'll even meet us," said Kid, doubtfully.

"Not takin' you Thaddeus. I'm takin' someone to work the feminine angle."

"Me?" chirped Meg.

"No, takin' Kate," Heyes deflated her.

"Why?" she protested, "I can do feminine!"

"You're still callin' the baby 'it'!" he said bluntly, "Kate's goin' to appeal to her as a mother."

Seeing Meg about to argue, Kate interrupted, "Be fair Meg! You just had a whole night at West Hill. Cracked a safe! Rolled in a haystack with Joshua! Came home at dawn, covered in grass stains! Now it's my turn!"

"Darling!" reproved Emerson mildly, "I don't think you meant that, quite how it came out."

Kid's simultaneous protest was more inarticulate, but clearly prompted by the same concern. It was accompanied by a glower at Heyes – 'Not so much as a finger'.

"Uh huh," grunted Heyes, dampingly to Kate. "You do realise we're just goin' to walk up to the front door and knock? We won't need the butter knife to jemmy the windows. Won't be in the stables frightenin' the horses."

"Oh well -" said Kate, smiling happily first at her husband, then at Heyes, "– it's an outing! We can't all expect Meg's level of nocturnal adventure."

"Hmmm," said Heyes. With mock sternness, he added, "If you play your part VERY well, I may allow you to fall in the river picking flowers on the way home. Don't want to bring you back so clean an' tidy you feel it's a wasted trip."

Meg saw the justice of her friend having a share of active plotting and scheming, but was not completely reconciled, "Suppose you meet those stable hands? They'll recognise you, Joshua."

"Kate an' I will call in at the hotel first. I'll put on a suit, slick back my hair, pick up a pair of spectacles. Be enough." He gave Meg a wicked look, "Wasn't my face they were gawkin' at – was mostly your legs!"

"Still, maybe Thaddeus should escort Kate?" she offered.

"Nope. Thaddeus is goin' to be busy, gatherin' information; case we need plan B," said Heyes decisively.

"Oooh," said Meg pleased, "I'm glad there's a plan B, because I think we might need it." She looked, expectantly, at Heyes. A beat. "Well – what is it?"

"I'm still workin' on it," he said, "But I do know what I want Thaddeus to find out."

Kid looked at him enquiringly.

"First –" said Heyes, "– try and get word of who Carleton had set the fire. Whoever it was probably spent yesterday lyin' low. Now they mighta heard Emerson's come round – be wonderin' if he remembers anything. Worry works on a man. They might be drinking. Might be seekin' – other distractions. If you can – find them."

Kid nodded understanding and acceptance.

Heyes continued, "What you want is any news on when Carleton's due back. Still Monday? Or has he sent word he's on his way. AND – anything you can pick up on his plans." He held Kid's eyes for a moment, "We're not lookin' for a fight. If Deke Simons is back on the move – avoid him – at least for now." He smiled and added with partly mock, partly real concern, "Got quite a list for you, Thaddeus. I can't have you getting shot till its all done." Receiving 'the look' from his partner, he went on, "Besides – we don't need the attention you an' him squarin' up would draw." He waited for a response.

After a beat, he received another nod of agreement from Kid.

Heyes picked up the notebook he'd used the night before. Flicking through it, he tore out a page, "Find out where Carleton spends his evenings. We know from Kate here, its not home at West Hill. Check his saloons and these -" Heyes handed over the notes, "– addresses of his –" he grinned, "– dens of common or garden vice. You're probably lookin' for somewhere on the fancy side. Nice private rooms. Where he might meet – friends."

"Ooooh!" breathed Meg, thrilled, "Is Thaddeus going to find the villain's lair – where he briefs his sneering henchmen?"

"Pretty much," smiled Heyes.

"And he'll discover a hidden recess, 'draped in arras', where he can 'convey and screen himself to o'erhear – the speech of vantage'!" she continued delighted. "Without getting stabbed, of course," she clarified, to Kate, who nodded, sharing her friend's concern for Kid's safety.

"Uh huh," said Heyes, "If all that meant – check out possibilities for listenin' in – Yup."

Meg clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling with excitement, "And since you're with Kate; I'm with Thaddeus – as backup?"

"Nope," said Heyes.

Her face fell, "Why not?"

"'Cause I'm not walkin' into a brothel, with you on my arm, askin' for a room!" explained Kid bluntly.

"Worried she'll be so busy gawkin' round, she'll trip over a silken cushion an' fall into the mosaic lined, scented pool, huh Thaddeus?" grinned Heyes, winning a glare from his partner.

Meg was frowning over the problem. "I do see you might be embarrassed walking in with me," she said fairly. "What would people think?" An idea struck her, "What if I 'obscured myself in the lovely garnish of a boy'?"

"Huh?" said Kid.

"We could borrow an outfit from Ned Kingsley," supported Kate, "Tack the hems up." She looked at her friend admiringly, "With her hair tucked in a cap, she'd easily pass for a sixteen year old youth!"

"There you go, Thaddeus!" enthused Heyes, "She'll be disguised as a boy – not embarrassing at all!" Kid's expression threatened dire retribution once the partners were alone. "Still no?" queried Heyes. He shook his head in mock disappointment, "Sorry, Meg – looks like Thaddeus plans on doin' without a backup."

She slumped, disappointed.

"Isn't it going to be embarrassing for Thaddeus anyway? Walking into those places," asked Emerson, seriously.

"He'll cope," dismissed Heyes.

"No," said Kid. "The man's gotta point." Meeting his partner's incredulous look and conscious of the listening girls, he expanded, "I mean walking in is one thing – but I can't just ask to see round, enquirin' if Oliver Carleton's got a private room."

"For heavens sake!" exploded Heyes. "Do I have to think of everything! Improvise! Take a leaf outta Meg's book – use a little imagination! Say you're lookin' for the diving odalisques. When you don't find 'em – walk out sayin' the place don't offer the kinda service you've been used to back in Wyoming!"

Meg nodded and weighed in on the creative front, "You could say you want to see the best rooms because you're planning to throw a bacchanal."

"Baccha - ?" gaped Kid.

"Right again, Thaddeus," said Emerson, approvingly. "The word bacchanal suggests a revel in which the chief divertissements are wine, carousing and song; although other debauchery is not ruled out. Orgy would be a better term for what I believe Meg has in mind."

"That right, Meg?" asked Heyes, with a quizzical smile, "You sittin' there thinkin' bout orgies?"

She pondered.

"To be honest," she admitted, "I'm thinking of people in togas, lying on couches, drinking too much, laughing, eating bunches of grapes and watching dancing girls perform, to the music of a lyre." She turned to Emerson, "Which would that be?"

He thought for a moment, then smiled fondly at her, "I'm relieved to say, Meg, apart from the classical costume, that's just a dinner party."

"You could pose as a customer, Thaddeus," suggested Kate, "but claim a fear of enclosed spaces." Receiving a questioning look from her husband, she explained, "So he has an excuse for examining all the larger rooms and prolonging the conversation." She turned back earnestly to Kid, "Then – when you've seen what you need – pretend to be overcome with self-reproach. You cannot renege on your vow of fidelity to a sweetheart, patiently awaiting your return in a distant state. So you walk out."

"Oooh, that's good," enthused Meg, "Or – explain the remorse flooding your breast has rendered you – inadequate. Then walk out."

"Need a few more suggestions, Thaddeus?" said Heyes, wide eyed with mock helpfulness, "Or had enough help?"

"More'n enough!" said Kid, glowering at him.

"What can I do?" said Meg, eagerly.

Heyes looked at her. "You could do something with those chickens an' get that pie served. 'Fore Thaddeus get even proddier."

For a moment, Meg looked about to protest.

Then, hungry herself, she sprang up with a cheerful grin, "I'll do that right now. Then what?"

"Wash up?" he offered.

"No really?" she protested.

"Save Kid Curry from Fatima's clutches? Let Hannibal persuade Yasmeena, he can keep both her and Mary-Sue happy?" suggested Heyes, teasingly.

"Joshua! You're not leaving me out?" she cried.

"How could I?" he smiled, "I need both you an' Emerson workin' on Plan B. And – most likely - Plan C."


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN **

**Afternoon, Saturday 16th June 1883 West Hill **

Heyes helped Kate down from the rig outside West Hill. He turned away slightly, lowering the brim of his derby, as the gaze of the stable hand, holding the horse swept over him. He was not recognised. Heyes silently thanked Kate, who was smiling, sparkling with small talk and generally diverting the man's eyes most successfully.

Kate privately thought all credit belonged to that appalling hat. Waiting in the hotel lobby, she had thought it surprising a man arriving in Butte with nothing but his saddlebags, found room to carry a formal outfit. When she'd seen Heyes came back down the stairs – she was more surprised he bothered. Even her carefully trained manners had suffered a jolt.

"Good heavens!" she had exclaimed. "You look –" she searched, "– different!"

"That was kinda the point, Kate."

Now waiting for a response to their knock, she glanced up anxiously.

"I hope I don't let you down, Joshua."

"You won't," he said, "Just want you bein' kind, concerned, sympathetic and honest. I can't see you havin' a problem with that."

Not noticing the compliment, she nodded earnestly, "Anything else?"

"If it comes up - you might wanna offer an opinion 'bout the treatment a woman oughta expect from a decent man who cares about her." He smiled at her reassuringly, "Can't see that bein' a problem either, huh?"

"Oh no!" she agreed. She mused on her own thoughts for a moment and then added simply, "I AM lucky aren't I?"

Heyes looked at the open, beautiful face beaming up at him so happily. She displayed not one ounce of self consciousness nor conceit; her dark eyes glowed with love. He understood why Kid had returned from Thursday's sunlit, riverside stone-skimming, carrying a well hidden torch.

"I think you're both lucky, Kate," he said, truthfully, as the door opened.

She handed over her visiting card, "Mrs. Connor to see Mrs. Carleton," she announced, stepping into the hallway.

"Please. Please wait," said the maid, nervously.

She was Chinese, possibly a wife or daughter of one of the mine labourers. While liltingly charming, her delivery and accent did not suggest fluent English. Heyes wondered if Carleton had deliberately staffed his house with indoor servants offering little opportunity for his 'wife' to converse.

They waited in the hallway. The polished grandfather clock ticked. Heyes worked out which of the heavy doors led to the study and smiled at the memory of the previous night's escapade. No sound reached them in that solidly built, oppressive house.

The maid returned, handing back Kate's card, "Is - not at home."

Heyes opened his mouth to argue. However, Kate, recognising a perfectly acceptable social formula, forestalled him. Taking a tiny silver pencil from her card case, she scribbled a brief note on the square of pasteboard.

"Please take that to Mrs. Carleton," she smiled, " - thank you."

As the maid again disappeared, Heyes breathed, "What did you write?"

"As you suggested," Kate answered, "I appealed to her as a mother."

This time the return message was, "This way, please."

They were shown into a spacious, ornately furnished sitting room. Far more luxurious, but with none of the charm of Kate's house. The blinds were drawn against the sunshine, dimming the light. A richly dressed figure sat upon a chaise in the window alcove, her profile toward the door. A crib stood within reach.

The woman did not rise and barely turned her head as the door shut behind her visitors. Heyes' keen eyes dropped to the hand gently rocking the cradle. Even across the length of the room, he could see it trembled.

The voice breaking the silence sounded high and anxious.

"You had something to tell me – concerning my son's welfare?"

Kate hesitated unsure how to begin.

Heyes intercepted her, tone very direct.

"We kinda thought it might be better for his welfare, if the truth 'bout what happened back in Medora came out now. 'Fore his mother ends up jailed as an accessory; or worse."

The unfamiliar voice, as well as the words, jerked the woman's head round toward them.

"Who's this? I thought – I mean - isn't Mr. Connor with you?"

Kate let out a gasp. The left side of the woman's face looked almost as bad as Emerson's. The eye puffed and half closed, amidst discoloured skin, angry bruises showing on temple and cheek.

Kate hurried forward, the purpose of the visit forgotten in her surge of warm concern.

"My husband? No indeed." Kate reached the chaise and crouched to scan the injured face, worriedly, "Emerson still can't stand unaided, let alone walk. Didn't you know about the fire?"

The clear incomprehension he saw, told Heyes whatever else this woman knew – any moves Carleton had made against the Connors, were a blank to her.

"What happened to you?" Kate asked gently.

The woman turned away hurriedly, "It's nothing! I – I walked into a door!"

"This door hit you Wednesday, huh?" said Heyes, "When it found you'd let two ladies from Boston in, askin' questions." He received a scared glance. His voice softened a shade, coaxing, "What happened in Medora, Ellen? He threaten you into playin' along?"

"No! No," she exclaimed to this last question. Then, realising her reaction had been close to an admission, she insisted, voice tight with fear, "I don't know what you mean!" Her mind worked, narrowed eyes darting anxiously at him for a fraction of a second, "Whoever you are – you've made a mistake. My name's Lydia, Lydia Carleton."

"Lydia Hamilton-Carleton, huh?" he said. He approached, "Alright – since you went to the same school as Kate here – discuss old times!" Her eyes widened in fright. "Go on! Tell her the names of a coupla teachers. Let's hear your favourite lesson." He stopped far enough from the chaise to show no physical threat was intended, but voice direct and forceful, "What street was it on – Lydia?"

The deep, masculine tones roused the baby in the crib. He began to whimper.

"Joshua! Please don't!" pleaded Kate. She tenderly picked up little Oliver and hushed him. The whimpering ceased. Sitting down on the chaise, Kate handed the baby to his mother, still leaving one finger in the clutch of a tiny hand.

Kate looked into the mother's face. When she spoke, her voice was full of compassion.

"Mr. Smith doesn't mean to frighten you. He's just trying to show that – we know. We know the real Lydia Hamilton died on the journey from Chicago. And it would be better if you admitted that – Ellen – because – " she paused, laying her free hand on Ellen's own, "– because we think you're in danger."

"Danger?" she repeated.

Heyes spoke up, his voice more measured now, persuasive.

"We know – but we can't prove it. It'd take bringin' someone out from back east to do that. Carleton's no fool. He's not goin' to sit waitin' for that to happen. Now he's got –" he pointed at the white, swathed bundle in Ellen's arms "– him; he don't need you any more. Nothin' but a risk. Reckon he plans on – eliminatin' the risk."

Ellen registered puzzlement, followed by a sudden shock of comprehension. For a few moments, a reluctant fear that Heyes was right twisted her face, then she squeezed her eyes closed as if shutting out unwelcome thoughts.

"No!" she protested, "He'd never do that!" She rose and returned the baby to his crib. Taking her seat, Ellen's eyes met Kate's, partly defiant, partly pleading, "He promised. He's going to take good care of me!"

"I agree," said Heyes, his implication clear, "I think he's gonna take real good care of you!"

Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

"You're wrong!" she shot at Heyes. "He loves me!"

"Looks like it!" his eyes dwelt on her swollen face.

Her voice firm, to convince herself, rather than her audience, she rushed on, "He does! As soon as the time's right, we're going to be – " She clamped her hand to her mouth, to force back the admission she had so nearly made.

"You're going to be married?" finished Heyes. The frightened eyes suggested this was a pretty good guess. "Didn't the weddin' eleven years ago take? Is that it?" She kept her hand clenched over her mouth, as he went on; his voice softer now, persuasive, "How much money do you think Carleton's gonna want to squeeze outta the mine, before the time's right, Ellen? And supposin' you had anythin' to offer him - since he's kinda got a taste for wife killin' – do you really think he's good husband material?"

She shook her head frantically at this.

Turning to Kate and unclamping her mouth, she whispered, "It was an accident!" Again her face worked, desperate for Kate to believe her. Desperate to believe in her own words, "I'm SURE it was an accident!"

"His wife's death?" asked Kate, very gently.

A blink for 'yes', rather than a nod.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" even more gently.

Ellen looked into the eyes of the only person to have shown her a little kindness in the last four lonely months. A large part of her did want to tell Kate.

Heyes could hardly catch the words, as she gulped, "I won't turn him in! I love him."

Kate thought for a moment, "Anything you disclose – we still can't prove. It'd be our word, against yours." She leant forward and went on, "Sometimes, when lawyers discuss a case – and want to say something that might other wise be actionable – they start with the phrase, 'without prejudice'; then, it almost doesn't count." Kate gave a tiny squeeze to Ellen's hand, "Is there anything you'd like to tell me – without prejudice?"

Again, the nod was almost imperceptible save for the blink of the swimming eyes.

"You'd all travelled as far as Medora. What happened?"

"We arrived after dark. The only guests at the hotel. We had the whole upper floor. Mrs. Carleton retired straight away. I folded her things, turned down the bed, then went to my own room. Mrs. Carleton used to take medicine – to help her sleep. The bottle I'd placed ready, must have been near empty. The fresh bottle was in the trunk – in my room." Ellen fished a handkerchief from her belt and pressed it to her face, before continuing, "She came to fetch it. Surprised me. I was almost ready for bed. She saw – she saw –" Ellen gulped on a sob, unable to continue for a moment.

"She saw you were pregnant?" prompted Kate, softly, "Was that it?"

Ellen nodded, "I'd managed to hide it. Knew it couldn't be for much longer – but – I had no money, nowhere to go." She shuddered at the memory, "She was – beside herself. Because she guessed straight off –" again Ellen stopped.

"That it was her husband's?" said Kate, very gently.

Ellen dropped her eyes.

Swallowing she said, "He – he used to tell me I was special; that I understood him. Not like her. And he wouldn't stop –" She broke off, clenching and unclenching the damp handkerchief in her hand, before continuing, "When he found out I was – expecting – he was so angry! How could I do that to him? At first he wanted me to - to take care of it."

Her eyes flew to Kate's for a moment, "But he didn't mean that!" Eyes lowered again, she went on, "He agreed I could stay – long as I made sure I left, before his wife found out!" She gulped on another sob, "Now I'd let him down again! I knew he'd be real mad." Looking at Kate's expression, she turned away, shamefaced, "You despise me, don't you?"

"I don't think you're the one she's despisin'!" said Heyes bluntly, "What happened?"

"Oliver came upstairs. She flew at him. Spitting mad. Hissing how she'd turned a blind eye all these years, but this was the last straw. Bringing his w---ing into her home. Said he'd never see another penny of her money. She'd get her lawyers to fix a separation. He was just trying to shut her up. I couldn't bear to watch! The next thing - she was lying at the bottom of the stairs. Like a crumpled doll. Head bleeding. You could see it was real bad!"

Ellen closed her eyes as she said, "Oliver didn't mean it to happen – it was an accident!" She went on, "He ran down after her. Of course the noise brought the owner out. Oliver shouted at him to send for a doctor. They carried her up. I could see him – thinking. He had her put in my room. Sent me into theirs." She gulped, "Later, he said – if she didn't make it – it was ridiculous to let her money go to a stranger. He'd be ruined. He wouldn't be able to help – with the child. He said – he'd always loved me – but couldn't afford to leave her. But, if I stood by him now – we could all be together – him, me and the baby. Wasn't that what I wanted?"

She looked up at Kate, "And – I knew it was wrong – but that WAS what I wanted. I didn't believe it would happen. At first, the doctor thought she might pull through. But the next day – Oliver was with her – she took a sudden turn for the worse. She just – passed away."

"Convenient!" said Heyes, sceptically. He crouched down on his heels to bring his face level with hers, "He's just using you – you know that!"

She shook her head stubbornly.

"Haven't you been listenin' to yourself?" he urged. "The man's rotten clean through. Get out while you still can."

Kate leaned forward too, "He's right, Ellen. It's obvious Mr. Carleton's treatment of you was – heartless. He's a callous, selfish man, willing to dispose of anyone who stands in his way, or might expose him. The sooner you give him up, the safer you'll be! Do you really want to risk leaving your baby without a mother? Leaving him to be brought up by a cold-hearted killer?"

Ellen raised her hands as if to push away the truth.

"No!" she insisted. "You're wrong!"

Heyes sighed frustrated. His dark eyes held hers.

"Suppose you heard it from his own mouth?" he suggested, "Would that convince you?"

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN **

Kid was about to turn off Butte's main streets and head toward the district generally referred to as 'the line' when a familiar figure, entering the livery, caught his eye. Following, Kid quietly watched Joe strapping his loaded saddlebags, to a sturdy bay gelding. He stepped forward. Joe wheeled round, startled. His eyes widened nervously, at the sight of Kid. He felt the same aura of danger, that had checked his boss from continuing with further threats in the Connor house, on Wednesday.

"Goin' somewhere?" Kid asked abruptly.

"Yup," ill at ease, but not cowed, "I decided to move on. Ain't a problem is it?"

"Depends," said Kid levelly. "Not so long as you're not in such an all-fired hurry you can't spare a few – friendly – words first."

Joe turned aside. Taking a rolled blanket slung over one shoulder, he began to fasten it behind the saddlebags.

"Words 'bout what?" he asked.

"That fire Thursday night," said Kid, "I wondered if you'd heard talk about how it mighta got started – an' why?"

Joe did not look round. He busied himself checking and tightening his girth.

"Had nuthin' to do with that!" he stated firmly.

"I believe you," said Kid truthfully, "But it's not what I asked."

There was a silence.

Kid broke it, "Where's your partner?"

Joe met his eyes fair and square, "I ain't got no partner!" he stated firmly, "And since Thursday – ain't got no job neither. I quit. S'why I'm movin' on." He drew a deep breath, "A man hires out his gun – he can't always afford to pick and choose the jobs – but let's just say this time – I felt kinda particular."

"Uh huh?" said Kid, "This fella who's not your partner – Caleb – he particular too?"

Joe looked away, again adjusting the saddle, "Dunno," he shot Kid a glance, "I doubt it!"

"If I wanted to talk – where'd I find him?"

"Dunno," said Joe again.

"Just to talk – I'm not plannin' any – any payback. I just don't want any more -accidents for the Connors. Guess I feel kinda particular 'bout that too."

Joe searched Kid's face.

Satisfied with what he saw, he said, "You might try the Silver Dollar – south end o' the line. He mostly drinks there. Tends to start early Saturday."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

The Silver Dollar had no pretensions. It sold cheap liquor, to men who wanted to get drunk fast. This early in the afternoon, patrons were still sparse, though every hour saw the place gradually fill, anticipating a hard drinking weekend. Coming in from the bright sunshine, Kid's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim, smoke filled interior. He scanned the joint.

In a quiet corner, bottle on table, desultory card game in progress, sat Caleb. He had three companions. Kid recognised two as having also been amongst Carleton's hired guns at the payroll distribution. The youngest was a stranger; green shirt, tied down gun, cocky expression. Caleb's back was toward the door. It was the arrested expression of the man opposite, that caused him to turn. Fear swept across his face, as he saw the man quick enough to disarm Deke Simons, approaching.

Kid stopped, two foot from the table.

"I wanted a word," he said, eyes never leaving Caleb's face.

"We're busy," said the brash youngster, showing off in front of the older men, "– make an appointment!"

This did not get the laugh he'd expected.

He received a long cold look, but all Kid said was, "I won't take long."

"What got said 'bout you an' Kate Connor, Thursday -" whined Caleb, "– weren't me. Wuz all Deke. He'd been told to get –" he stopped, just sober enough to realise whiskey had already loosened his tongue too much.

"Been told to get rid of Connor? One way or another?" finished Kid, "See – I'm glad you brought that up –'cause it's one of the things I thought we could talk about."

The youngster reacted to this topic. He rose from his seat fired by youthful bravado, liquor and the fact that, being new in town, he had not been present to see Kid in action at the mine offices.

"I told ya," he swaggered. "We're busy. Don't feel like talkin''bout nuthin!" His hand hovered over his holster. His confidence suggested, despite his youth, this was far from his first confrontation. "Think it's time you left. Git!" he threatened. The young man tried to stare the ex-outlaw down.

Kid stood calmly waiting, hand relaxed by his side.

Reaching, the youngster displayed whip-quick reflexes and long practice. Still, he had scarcely cleared leather, before he faced the six-gun which leapt into the hand of Kid Curry.

"An' like I told you," said Kid, keeping his voice even, "– won't take long." His eyes indicated the chair, "Why not just sit an' listen – civil like?"

The youngster sat, gulping.

Kid twirled his gun, dropping it smoothly back into his holster. His eyes swept across the four men.

"Where were we?"

"Why're you talkin' to us?" asked the oldest man. His neighbour stammered slightly, as he added, "Has Connor come round? He been – sayin' stuff –'bout what happened?"

Kid kept the anger out of his face at the thought of three heavies beating on an unarmed man, leaving him for dead in a fire set to hide evidence of the attack.

"Not far as I know," said Kid, "You mighta heard Carleton offered me a job Tuesday?"

"Uh huh," said Caleb cautiously, "Deke said you turned it down."

"The thing is," went on Kid, "– I didn't realise at the time just how – well paid – the work he had in mind might be. Specially now, since his current staff seem to be – failin' in their duties." Caleb winced at this. "I've been havin' what you might call – second thoughts," went on Kid, "– wondered where I might find him?"

Caleb searched Kid's face. The cold blue eyes stared back, impassive. Caleb swallowed.

"No secret - he's gone to Anaconda."

"Wondered if you'd heard, when he's comin' back," said Kid evenly, "Seein' as you mighta been in touch. Havin' had kinda disappointin' news to report."

The oldest man shifted in his seat, "Say we knew – why'd we tell ya?"

Kid let his hand hover an inch closer to his holster.

"I might find a reason," he said. "Want me to try?"

Caleb did not find it hard to believe this threatening presence could be hired as a killer.

"Comin' back this evenin'," he gulped, "He's arrivin''bout half eight."

"An' if I wanted to meet him?" continued Kid.

"Used to mostly meet with Deke at the Dumas place," said Caleb, "He keeps a suite there – kinda private."

Kid acknowledged this with a slight nod.

Caleb recovered a little composure as he felt the danger recede.

"Suppose you mean to take over Deke's place?" he asked, torn between ingratiation and resentment. The young gunslinger threw Kid a furious glance, hearing this. Caleb went on, "I suppose you heard he wuz fired after lettin' your partner best him?"

Kid filed this information away.

"Let's just say – I'd like to discuss – possibilities," he said, as he turned and exited the saloon.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Entering the Dumas place, Kid reflected, his partner's instincts were pretty good; guessing to look for somewhere on the fancy side in tracking down the lair in which Carleton briefed sneering henchmen. The décor might not match the oriental splendour, sketched by Meg's imagination; nevertheless, glancing round, at huge mirrors in gilded frames, cut glass chandeliers winking overhead, provocative European artwork adorning the walls and general air of no expense spared, Kid was glad he still had the best part of $400 remaining, from Tuesday's payoff. He suspected neither information – nor anything else in this place – came cheap.

A stunning brunette glided up to him.

"Hi, feelin' lonely for a little company?" A delicate finger ran up the length of his arm, "Can any of us ladies help - some way?"

Glancing round, Kid saw several enticing smiles and pouts directed at him; each from a woman, in her own way, as fancy as the surroundings. He moved a little further into the room and involuntarily returned the smile of a particularly enchanting redhead, glancing back at him over a smooth white shoulder, eyes twinkling between mischievously narrowed lashes.

Recalling his errand he said, with none of his usual smoothness in similar encounters.

"Uh …See the thing is…"

He stopped. Heyes' instruction to 'improvise' didn't seem to be getting him any closer to the request, 'could I have a good look round Oliver Carleton's suite – preferably on my own.' Moreover, the surroundings were distracting him from concentrating on coming up with a plausible line.

Suddenly he felt a light touch on his shoulder from behind and felt his ear tickled by someone leaning in close to breathe softly, "Hi Jed. Long time, no see!"

A delighted grin split Kid's face at hearing the familiar voice.

"Breda," he exclaimed, turning round and catching her in a hug that lifted her off her feet. He kissed her affectionately then, moving his lips to her ear, breathed in return, "It's Thaddeus, honey! Thaddeus Jones!"

"Sure Thaddeus, whatever you say!" she returned.

Kid looked at the warm amber eyes, with the feline slant to the edges and the good-natured smile beaming up at him. He felt this was his first piece of unquestionably good luck since arriving in Butte.

"Haven't seen you for years!" he exclaimed, "I thought you moved down to Texas?"

"Like the snow – I drifted - north!" she purred. "How about moving somewhere more private to - discuss old times."

"Sure," he smiled, "– you can fill me in on what this place has to offer."

As they moved toward the stairs, out of earshot, Kid hissed in an undertone, "Seriously Breda, I need your help."

"You know me, Thaddeus – Thaddeus Jones," she cooed, "I'm the helpful kind."

"I wanna know all about this place. Just need to talk."

Her hand upon the handle of her room, she smiled, "Then let's get comfortable and – talk. We'll see what - come's up."

Throwing him a wicked gleam she asked, "Have you still got a thing for smoking cigars in your bath? Because I think I have a few Cuban Havanas just waiting for the right occasion."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Amongst the women watching the couple leave, Kid had not taken special note of one sharp eyed blonde. If he had seen the sly, calculating expression settling over that pretty, but shrewd face, as she watched him walk away, it would have given him pause.

Lucille twisted a golden curl between her fingers, considering what she had just seen. She was generally understood in the line to be, "Deke Simon's" girl and enjoyed the distinction of being favoured by the fastest gun in town.

Thaddeus Jones had been pointed out to her, as the one who had disarmed Deke on Tuesday, even before his smart mouthed partner beat her man unconscious. She bore him a grudge for that; for Thursday's events in the saloon; and for rescuing Emerson Connor – all of which had lost Deke his lucrative post, as Carleton's right hand man.

Lucille, sidling close to Kid upon recognising her enemy, had not caught whether the name murmured in his ear by his old friend was 'Jez' or 'Jake'…or 'Jed'. But she thought she could guess. Not many men would be capable of outdrawing Deke. But Lucille, used to listening to her lover's recitals, knew the names of most likely contenders.

Breda was never one to hold back during sessions of 'girl talk'. All the Dumas ladies heard, at some time, how Breda had known the famous outlaw, Kid Curry. Known him well, real well. Well enough to satisfy all the curious – feminine - questions about which rumours were true.

A contented smile spread over Lucille's face. If she were right, Deke was going to be real grateful. If she were right – they were both going to be rich.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN.**

Kid returned to the Connor house by early evening. A satisfied, not to say smug, smile wreathed his face. He silently challenged Heyes to find any fault with the way he had played his part.

Before he had a chance to knock, his partner leaned out of the upstairs window.

"We've been waitin' for you!" he called down, "What took so long? I was beginnin' to worry the odalisques had you locked in the secret underground chamber. Thinkin' of sendin' Meg along to crack the locks and get you out! Before you suffered a fate worse than death." Seeing Kid glower, he grinned, "C'mon up Thaddeus."

Entering the bedroom, he found Heyes and Emerson.

"It's just us men," said Heyes. "So the plottin' and scheming lacks a certain – vivid, imaginative – flavour."

"'Mrs. Carleton'," started Emerson, "I mean, Ellen Fraser," he corrected himself, "– won't give up her –"

"Paramour," supplied Heyes.

"Her – lover," said Emerson, with a faint flush, "Not unless she hears his indifference to her from his own lips." He drew breath, "Heaven knows why! Kate was horrified at the treatment the woman had sustained. The man must be a brute!"

Kid looked questioningly at Heyes to see if this were fair, or just Emerson's spotless morality talking.

"He seduced her," said Heyes baldly, "And that's givin' it a kinder name than it deserves. Blamed her when she got pregnant. Was goin' to have her thrown out without lifting a finger to help. He let her watch him knock his wife down the stairs. Now he's hitting her." He sighed, "An' she's still foolin' herself he cares about her. Still hoping to play happy families."

Kid curled his lip in genuine disgust. He might not share an entire ethical code with Kate's husband, but there was nothing on that list they were likely to disagree about.

"So we're movin' on to Plan B," said Heyes, "Where we let Ellen hear the skunk plot to get rid of her."

"Have we got a plan B?" asked Kid.

"Didn't you hear me ask Meg and Emerson here, to do some thinkin'?" grinned Heyes, "We have plans B through Z!"

"And Alpha to Omega," smiled back Emerson. "Plus most of the Cyrillic, Arabic and Hebrew alphabets; not to mention the Cherokee syllabary!" He continued earnestly, careful not to claim credit not his, "Of course – it was practically all Meg. I'm afraid she was under orders to let me sleep most of the afternoon. I just joined in at the end."

"You're lookin' better for it," said Kid kindly, "– a bit less - green."

"I FEEL a bit less green," smiled Emerson, "- Almost – mustard yellow."

"Whatever," dismissed Heyes, "We've edited Meg's epic Plan B down to somethin' that might just work." He mused for a moment, "Well to somethin' that isn't bound to fail."

Emerson looked concerned, "Of course everything rather depends on what you found out. I thought it wasn't fair to assume you could discover everything you'd been sent for. It seemed a very hard task to me. But Joshua – he said we could rely on you. He said you never let him down – ever!"

Kid glanced at his partner, pleased despite himself. Heyes gave him a slightly sheepish look in return.

"Well," said Heyes, gruffly, "Did you find out what I wanted to know?"

Kid shook his head slowly, keeping his face solemn, "Pffffttt!" he ventured, filling the syllable with apologetic disappointment.

"Please don't feel bad," urged Emerson, seriously, "You did your best. No one can ever ask more than that."

Heyes eyed his partner closely, "You found out everything!" he stated, "- And more!" Kid could not contain it any longer. The smug grin once again spread across his face. He nodded.

"You know who beat on Emerson here?" asked Heyes.

"Talked to all three of 'em!" said Kid.

"Three!" exclaimed Emerson, "That seems a bit wasteful. I'm not exactly –" he searched, "– Kid Curry!" He thought for a second, "Still – it does make me feel a bit less – wet!"

"You know when Carleton's due back?" continued Heyes.

"Yup – he'll be getting off a train in a little over two hours from now," nodded Kid.

"You know where he goes?"

Kid smiled, "He has the East wing of the Dumas place for private use. Only one corridor leads in from the main entrance. There's one back exit – heavily locked. Suite's on the ground floor. Has a coupla bedrooms above. He keeps it for himself and – special friends he might want a favour from."

Heyes beamed, "And you know how we can listen in to what's happenin' in this private suite?"

Kid tried to resume the apologetic, disappointed face, but could not sustain it.

Grinning again, he said, "I ran into an old friend at the Dumas. You remember Breda? First met her after – " he stopped himself, " – we first met her in Denver."

Heyes grinned in return, "So – it wasn't all hard work this afternoon?"

Kid flashed him a glance.

In an undertone he said, "I always did like a real deep tub!" In his normal voice he continued, "She showed me somethin' about the East wing. A trick her Ma picked up listenin' in to Johnny Reb when he raided their farm durin' the war. See, the Dumas place has the same kinda heatin' as here." Kid sprang up, "Let me show you!" Striding over to the bulbous stove in the corner, he opened the polished iron door. He rushed from the room. Emerson and

Heyes heard his boots taking the stairs two at a time.

A second later, his voice came, echoing slightly, but very clear, from the belly of the stove, "Can you hear me? Even though the bedroom door and sitting room door are closed and I'm not raisin' my voice – can you hear me?"

Returning footsteps thudded up the stairs. A delighted Kid burst back into the room. He grinned at his partner. "See!" he exclaimed. "The pipes all join up."

Heyes mouth fell open.

"Wilksburg! It works like a – stethoscope," he breathed.

Emerson nodded, amazed, "I would never have thought of that. The connecting pipes carry the sound – even amplify it! It just requires the stove doors to be open – even just a fraction - at each end."

"Not a problem at the height of summer!" crowed Kid.

"Thaddeus," admired Heyes, "- that was better than even I expected!"

It was Kid's turn to look a little sheepish. "So," he went on. "What's plan B?"

"It kinda involves us persuadin' Carleton to come clean about what he has in store for Ellen," said Heyes, "Usin' all our powers of persuasion and offerin' him something he might want as bait."

"Uh huh?" said Kid, assuming the 'us' meant him and Heyes, "What's the bait?"

"Well – I thought part of it could be you, Thaddeus," said Emerson diffidently, "Hal told me Carleton tried to hire you – and you turned him down. He wouldn't have liked that. Not one bit. If you are really faster than Deke Simons – " he blinked for a moment unsure. Turning to Heyes, he asked, "Did I phrase that correctly?"

"Uh huh," confirmed Heyes.

"If you are really faster than Deke Simons," continued Emerson, "Carleton will be chaffing at the thought you are in Butte and not under his control. If you were to – pretend to reconsider his offer – he'd be so keen to believe it was true, he might fall for it. That, in turn, might get him to open up to you." Emerson peered at Kid anxiously, from the one eye still fully open. "I haven't offended you, have I?" he asked, "By supposing you might be willing to practice a deception – in a good cause?"

The ex-outlaws exchanged a glance.

"You haven't offended him," smiled Heyes.

"In fact," said Kid, "- it's kinda a case of 'great minds think alike'. I planted pretty much the same idea on Caleb." At Emerson's look of enquiry, he went on, "One of the fellas who tried to kill you. He was at the saloon with Simons." A thought, which had been nagging Kid since his return, suddenly came to the fore. "Where are the girls?" he asked, "Did they decide to see sense and leave everythin' to us?"

Heyes cleared his throat and did not answer this second question.

"They're in Meg's room," he said blandly. "Meg is helpin' Kate change into something – more attractive."

Kid blinked. He thought Kate had looked pretty attractive in her outfit at lunchtime.

"Heaven knows what!" chimed in Emerson, "But from the overhead banging and scraping we heard earlier, I think they've been rooting around in the attic. There are trunks up there Kate hasn't opened, since we moved to Montana."

Just as it began to dawn on Kid what the significance of Kate getting dressed up might be, the door burst open. A delighted Meg bounced in.

"TAH DAH!" she cried with a dramatic sweep of her hand, as she ushered her friend into the room.

Heyes wondered if Kid would like a little help picking his jaw back up off the floorboards. To be fair, his partner had some excuse. Heyes had been prepared for what he might see – and even he had to admit this transformed Kate was nothing short of stunning. She turned heads in modestly cut muslin and calico dresses, softly draped to conceal her contours. Here in full evening dress, she was enough to take a man's breath away. Her bodice appeared moulded to her still slim waist and shapely hips. The skirt flared out to froth in foamy waves around her feet. The dress appeared held up by magic. It certainly could not be supported by the frail gossamer net, beaded with tiny diamante drops, slipping from the lovely curve of each creamy shoulder.

Kate smiled at each of them with perfect friendliness, awaiting a response.

Kid found his tongue. "You are NOT goin' anywhere wearin' THAT!" he exclaimed.

Kate's face fell.

"Oh," she said, disappointed, "Don't you like it? Meg and I both thought it looked quite stylish."

"What's wrong with it?" challenged Meg, "It still fits! She hasn't really changed shape at all yet, we just laced it a tiny bit looser over the hips." Glowering at Kid she said, "I think Kate looks really pretty, Thaddeus!"

Kate stepped in front of her husband and did a little twirl, "What do you think, Darling? How do I look?"

"Lovely," he said.

"Do you remember the last time I wore this dress?" sighed Kate, moving to the looking glass and smiling wistfully at her reflection. Emerson started slightly at this unexpected, supplementary question. Fortunately, Kate went on, "Remember the Chinese lanterns hanging in the trees? And the sound of the waves lapping on the shore? They played a Viennese waltze – Strauss – and as we whirled round and round in the moonlight, you said you wanted to hold me in your arms forever." She was still at the glass, adjusting a curl.

Emerson shot a covert glance at Heyes who thought he saw the hint of a wink.

"It doesn't sound much like me," he demurred, "Are you mixing me up with someone else?"

She whirled round, "It was on our honeymoon, Darling!" she exclaimed. She frowned at his blank expression, "You do remember our honeymoon?"

"Rhode Island?" he ventured.

"NO! It was –" Kate suddenly relaxed, "You're teasing me!"

"Thought it was my turn," he smiled back, reaching out for her hand.

Kid, impatient with this interplay, moved forward to emphasise his point.

"Tell her," he insisted, "she isn't havin' any part of this! And she isn't wearin' THAT!"

Meg interrupted before Emerson could reply, "Of course Kate has a part in this, Thaddeus!"

"She did so well persuadin' the fake wife to talk," admired Heyes, "– she's gonna try and work the same magic on the villain."

"She'll be dangling an alternative piece of bait, in front of Carleton!" explained Meg, "In case your willingness to hire out as a cold blooded killer isn't temptation enough."

"She's danglin' nothin'!" insisted Kid.

"You haven't heard what it is yet!" protested Meg.

Emerson went on, "I'm not really comfortable with it either, but I must admit Meg has thought of a good point. You see, Thaddeus, her idea is based on the fact that a majority of murders are carried out not by strangers, but by someone close to the victim. Most commonly of all – by a spouse."

"So?" fumed Kid, lost.

"So –" triumphed Meg, "Kate is going to offer Carleton something we know he wants. She's going to offer to kill her husband – then get out of town!"

Kid stared in complete disbelief from her to Kate.

Kate nodded, "You see it would be simple for me, Thaddeus, because I'm with him night and day. I could easily drug him; smother him; deliberately infect the gash. Then I just act heartbroken that he took a sudden turn for the worse."

Kid shook his head as if to clear it.

"NO!" he said. Staring at Emerson he said, "Never mind 'not bein' comfortable'! Aren't you going to stop this?" Seeing a look of enquiry, he added forcefully, "Order Kate, order 'em BOTH, to stay outta this. It's not safe!"

Meg stared at Kid outraged. Even Kate favoured him with a thoughtful look.

"Nobody orders ME to do anything!" Meg exclaimed.

Kid exhaled impatiently at this, "Well make your wife stay out! Just tell her. She promised to obey you didn't she?"

"Certainly not," replied Emerson, adding mildly, "Neither of us would dream of going through a marriage ceremony using the word 'obey'."

"I only make promises I intend to keep, even when not standing at an alter," said Kate quietly, "And I could never obey anyone against my better judgment." She gave Kid a very straight look, "Or don't you believe I have the ability to think and make decisions for myself the way men do?"

Kid opened his mouth to reply and shut it again in frustration. He met Kate's eyes. Heyes watched something he rarely saw. He watched someone refuse to be stared down by his partner. Kid did not drop his own eyes, but his shoulders slumped, as a reluctant answer was forced out of him.

"Yes. But I can't bear to think of you - either of you – getting hurt. Surely it's not wrong to want to – well – to want to protect women?"

"Well, I don't think we're going argue with the last statement," agreed Emerson. "Kate," he went on, "– I know you'd never shy away from discomfort or danger; but am I allowed to make requests?"

She smiled, "YOU can even issue commands. Of course – first I need to hear them."

Emerson grinned back, "Right then, chattel! Chief of my possessions! Command number one – try not to let someone creep up behind and crack your head open." Emerson switched to a serious tone, " – because I suspect YOU haven't a skull like a rhinoceros. And if I lost you –," he stopped and looked at her soberly. She blushed and dropped her eyes. He went on with a catch in his voice, "If I lost you - there'd be no one to edit me down to half a page. Have pity on my suffering readers!"

She smiled up at him, "I won't let anyone crack my head open." The smile became teasing, "Who do you think I am – you?"

Emerson winced as this drew a laugh from him.

"Command number two – under NO circumstances is any future plan to involve stealing, carrying or using ANY kind of explosive! Ever!"

"Good one!" approved Heyes.

Kate kissed her husband's hand, "I hear and obey, masterful one."

"One last command?" he asked.

"Oh – I think, like wishes, I grant in threes," agreed Kate, "What is your bidding, lord?"

"Will you always – ALWAYS stay close to a backup? And I don't mean Montana Meg – Mistress of Machination and Mystery!"

With a smile, she stood up and went over to Kid. Clasping one of his hands in hers, she looked up and asked, "Thaddeus, will you please be my backup?"

Kid glanced over to her husband, for his reaction.

"I know I'd have nothing to worry about, with you looking out for Kate -" he said simply, meeting Kid's eyes squarely, "- Meg says you're the best there is!"

"Sure," Kid shrugged awkwardly.

"Thank you," said Kate. She beamed at him happily and added, "When I was a little girl, I always used to think how wonderful it would be to have a big, protective, older brother. Now it's as if I finally have one – " her glance took in Heyes, warmly, "– no, even better, two!" She gave his hand a friendly squeeze before returning to her seat.

Emerson coughed, "I think you should fill Thaddeus in on what he's saying 'yes' to, before he commits himself, Joshua," he said to Heyes, "Because I imagine he'll object!" He thought for a moment, "I don't like it, myself! But I think it's the best way of having Thaddeus stay close to Kate."

"Perhaps it's not fair to suggest it?" worried Kate.

"What aren't I goin' to like?" Kid growled at his partner, "I already don't like ANY of it!"

"To begin with," said Heyes, "You don't want Kate to meet Carleton alone do you?"

"NO!" said Kid. That was an easy question as far as it went.

"I can't go with her," explained Heyes, "I've nothing to offer Carleton. Besides, I'll be getting Ellen Fraser into position – she's met me, not you." Persuasively, Heyes added, "We need a reason for you and Kate to approach Carleton together. Something to link the two offers. In a way, that's why Kate's all dressed up. It's partly just window dressing – to help Kate work the best distraction technique she can. Because – after all – we do know Carleton is – lecherous."

"You're right!" glowered Kid, "I don't like it!"

"He hasn't finished yet!" protested Meg, "Kate is also trying to look – believably seductive - for her role as a villainess. You see – we want to give her an extra motive for offering to murder Emerson." She stopped, "Do you remember last night – when I was thinking up ideas?"

"Uh huh," said Kid warily.

"Do you remember the idea about, how on seeing Kate's matchless beauty, Mr. Carleton was struck by an insurmountable ardour and planned to murder her husband, as the first step in assuaging a guilty, but irresistible, passion?"

"That's not true? He isn't - isn't pesterin' you is he?" Kid asked Kate.

"No! no!" dismissed Meg. A thought struck her, "He isn't is he?"

"No," said Kate, "He's one of those horrid men, who think women like fulsome compliments and – being stared at. But I hardly ever see him, to speak to."

"It's a shame in a way," mused Meg, "– because if he was obsessed with you – he'd be easy to manipulate."

Kate looked rather doubtful about this, but said nothing.

"Guess Carleton thinks his love life's been complicated enough without adding extra twists!" said Heyes. "No," he looked at his partner firmly, "– it's not Carleton Kate'll be sharing a guilty passion with."

Kid frowned. The frown turned to dismay and a hastily withdrawn embarrassed glance at the Connors.

"I told you he wouldn't like it!" said Kate.

"It can't be worse than deceiving him you'd hire out as a killer, Thaddeus!" put in Meg.

"You offer him a dual package," persuaded Heyes, "Her husband, his wife; me too if he wants; and then he pays the pair of you to disappear. Two hearts that beat as one! He's a skunk – he'd do it himself. An' we know he thinks people can be bought."

Meg joined in, "I'm sure you could pretend to find Kate attractive, if you put your mind to it! If you REALLY hate that dress, we can change it!" She thought for a moment, "OR," she offered generously, "I'll go with Kate. We'll offer ourselves to him, like pair of Lucrezia Borgias! We can both carry guns strapped in our garters!"

"NO!" said Heyes, Curry and Emerson in unison.

"Alright," pursued Meg, turning to Kid, "Here's an alternative. Kate and I swap roles. That's if you would feel less awkward feigning overwhelming passion for an unmarried woman. I offer to murder Emerson and to fake a heartbroken suicide for Kate. You can wipe out Ellen and Joshua." Her eyes began to sparkle, "I'll do my very best enticing act to convince Mr. Carleton I'm a heartless hussy! We'll plan to take his money and disappear to Monte Carlo. There you can drink champagne out of my slipper every night and I'll breathe huskily, 'kiss me, my fool' as I sprawl wantonly on a tiger skin rug. After a while, I'll taunt you - flirting shamelessly with louche Italian aristocrats. Maddened, brow stormy with jealously, you will throw down the gauntlet and meet on the field of honour. I will watch your skill, entranced, as you feint and parry, finally pinking these would-be Don Juans with your swift rapier. Then you bear me helplessly away in your arms, swooning in anticipation of untold ecstasy."

"Or - we can stick to plan B," dismissed Heyes.

"After hearin' that – I think I could be persuaded on plan B," agreed Kid.

Meg looked a little offended, "Don't you believe I can manage 'enticing'?"

Heyes grinned at her.

"Enticing wouldn't begin to cover what I think you can manage, Meg!" he said, meeting her eyes, "But I'm not sure Carleton's goin' to have either the time or the taste to appreciate you the way – we – do!" He was rewarded with a swift blush from the suddenly tongue tied Meg. "Let's just say Kate appeals to a wider audience," finished Heyes.

Kate put her hands on her hips and turned with a mock pout to her husband.

"Darling, I think my appeal was just dismissed as commonplace!"

Heyes cocked an eyebrow at her.

"We know you for bein' clever as a barrel of monkeys; mimickin' a poor, honest payroll guard to his face; stealin' nitro without turning a hair; and fluttering ladies' hearts by drawin' semi naked men striding outta lakes! It's just – tonight - we're not expectin' Carleton to find the same things appealing we all do!"

"Taken all in all – she wasn't a bad catch, was she?" said Emerson.

Kate blushed rosily at this. Then she started up as part of Heyes' speech registered.

"Tonight!"

"Yup," said Heyes. "Thaddeus heard he's comin' back."

"I can't be ready tonight," she gulped, "I only tried the dress on to make sure it still fits. I'm not Meg! I can't do 'enticing' or 'adulterous' off the cuff! I thought I'd have tomorrow to – come up with a few lines! Practice my sashay!"

"You'll be fine," reassured Heyes.

"You don't need to rehearse," agreed Emerson warmly, "I find you perfectly enticing already!"

"Of course you do!" huffed Kate, "I've had nearly a year's practice enticing you! It's flirting shamelessly with anyone else that's the problem!"

"It's only Thaddeus!" exclaimed Meg, "He won't care! I'm sure! Smoulder your eyes. Give him little sideways smiles. Lick spilt wine slowly off each finger – the way you did at your leaving party when you were – merry - and kept trying to make Emerson blush. Before you both disappeared for 'a breath of fresh air'."

"Meg!" protested Emerson, demonstrating the aforementioned blush.

"I was NOT drunk!" exclaimed Kate in unison.

"I didn't SAY drunk!" grinned Meg.

"I was merely – excited at starting a new life in Montana. And - exhilarated - by the dancing!"

"Not by the best part of two bottles of chilled champagne then?" teased Meg.

"Emerson! Was I drunk?" Kate demanded.

"You were – as always – delightful," he said tactfully, "Not exactly on key, nor indeed word perfect, when you treated all my friends to that impromptu rendition of 'Clementine' – but delightful, nonetheless."

"See!" said Heyes. "We don't even want you to sing, or lick up spilt champagne, or sprawl on a tiger skin! A little gentle smouldering will be more than enough. Thaddeus'll just conjure up images of Fatima the glorious blonde whenever he looks at you. That alright with you, partner?"

Kid glowered, but made no further objection.

"So," said Meg. "What else did Thaddeus discover? Have we enough to work with Joshua?"

"Think so," considered Heyes, "Need him to fill us in on the layout."

She clasped her hands, "May I 'conceal me what I am'? Please."

"We'll see," he smiled.

"Huh?" said Kid.

"We have to agree on details and timing," said Heyes, with an echo of his old outlaw leader tones, "But first," he met his partner's eyes and glanced at the stove, "Do you wanna show Meg an' Kate your new trick?"

Kid could not help grinning once again, as he saw two girlish faces smiling eagerly at him, waiting to be impressed. Once again, the room echoed to boots thudding down the stairs.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN 10pm, Saturday 16th June 1883 **

Deke Simons waited patiently, concealed in the narrow passage to the side of Brady's mercantile. He had been brooding over an untouched glass of whiskey when Lucille brought her suspicions to him. They had returned to the Dumas place in time to see 'Thaddeus Jones' leave the still deserted East wing, bidding a fond farewell to Breda. Deke racked his brain to remember everything he had ever heard about Kid Curry. He was almost convinced they were one and the same person. Almost. If so – he and his smart mouthed partner were worth $20,000. If not – well – getting even with Thaddeus Jones and Joshua Smith would still feel pretty good.

Simons was a man who could bide his time. He had shadowed 'Jones' at a safe distance and knew he was in the Connor house. The door was not visible from his hiding place, but 'Jones' could not return to the main streets of Butte without being seen.

About seven thirty, Deke had watched that sloe-eyed wife of Connor's, wrapped in a shawl, walk smilingly up to Deputy Baker. They were too distant for any conversation to be heard, but as she disappeared back in the direction of the house, Baker had thrown aside the stick he had been whittling and strolled back into town. With a sneer, Simons guessed the Deputy had been informed Mr. Jones had kindly agreed to stay the night to protect the ladies; so if the lawman were needed elsewhere on a busy Saturday night – he need have no qualms about leaving. As far as the facts went – Deke was right. In his interpretation of Kate and Kid's motivations, he judged by his own mean nature, so there – he was wrong.

As West Hill was in the opposite direction, he did not see Heyes set off in the gig shortly after Deputy Baker relinquished his post. A few miners, lodging on that side of town, passed, seeking Saturday night entertainment. Otherwise, little enlivened Simons' wait. But he felt in his gut – 'Jones' would emerge that night.

A swift footed, skinny youth, face hot under the oversize cap pulled down over his hair ran past, coming from the town. He raised no interest in the watching gunslinger.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

The front door slammed behind a breathless Meg. Before she could race up the stairs, the tail of her jacket was caught by Kid, striding out of the sitting room.

"I think they want some time alone, before Kate has to leave," he explained.

She followed him back and threw herself into a chair.

Wheezing slightly, she gasped, "Are they being soppy? 'Please be careful, Darling!'. 'I will, Darling!'. 'I couldn't bear to lose you. I love you more with every day that passes!'" Receiving no answer, she asked, "Didn't you think to leave the stove open?"

"NO!" Kid exclaimed. He glared at her. "Besides – what if they are? Can't see anythin' wrong with that!" He sat forward, hands clasped, "So – how d'you get on? Anybody recognise you? Did you give Carleton the note?"

"Nobody so much as glanced twice at me! An' of course I did!" Meg grinned, "Followed the low down skunk – not too close, just like ya tol' me – an' he moseyed straight for the Dumas place."

"Did anyone meet him at the station?" asked Kid.

"Uh huh," she drawled, "Ornery lookin' gun. Young buck – 'bout mah age – lookin' real pleased with hisself – struttin'plumb like a cock o' the walk rooster –"

"Meg!" protested Kid, "Why are you talkin' like that?"

"Am I not capturing the idiom?"

"Not unless 'idiom' means 'annoying'! Talk properly."

"Sorry, just thought I'd try out my "western" on you first. A young man – my age maybe – met the train. I've not seen him in town before. He wore his gun tied very low – like you do, Thaddeus. Swaggered with his thumbs in his belt too – but he looked as if he was showing off." She smiled at Kid, "It looks MUCH more natural when you do it!" Kid looked momentarily disconcerted at this. Meg went on, "He was fair haired, sunburnt, wearing a green shirt."

Kid nodded, "Met him."

"He, the young man I mean, accompanied Mr. Carleton."

"Uh huh?" said Kid, "What about the signal?"

Meg nodded, "It's exactly as you said. If I position myself on the corner of the street behind the post office, I can see the back of the upper floor of the Dumas place. When I saw Mr. Carleton was definitely headed in the right direction, I ran back round to my lookout position. There are two lamps lit in the far window. So Joshua is in!" She looked enquiringly at Kid, "How do you think he managed the locks on the back door of the East Wing, Thaddeus?"

Kid shrugged, then grinned, "Are you missin' a butter knife?"

She beamed back, producing it from her breeches, "I don't think so!" A German made soldier's knife was pulled from the opposite side, "Took this too! It's Emerson's. Found it in the pocket when I took in the seams. It's wonderful! Has two blades, screwdriver, can opener, something that just looks like a spike – don't know what that's for! A metal loopy thing you can attach to your belt. I'm going to ask him to buy me one for my birthday!"

"What the Sam Hill do you need that for? All we're askin' you to do is watch! If the lamps go out – you know Carleton's not fallin' for it – and we're in bad trouble. You will NOT need a knife 'cause you DO NOT come and help – what do you NOT do?"

"I do not come and help!" sighed Meg.

"What DO you do?"

"I fetch the law," parroted Meg, obediently, "But I only do that, if you're in bad trouble – because the Sheriff will have to believe Carleton, not you and you and Joshua will probably end up in trouble – but at least Kate will be out and safe."

"And –?" prompted Kid.

"I'm the backup. The backup does her job, does as she's told and doesn't alter the plan. If I DO alter the plan – I won't be sitting down again this side of Christmas." Meg looked at him quizzically, "You do realise, I'm not stupid enough to believe you could do that, without dying of embarrassment. You're more prudish than Emerson! You can't even look at shoulders, without coming over all puritanical!"

Kid glowered at her, "Don't count on it! In my book – you're dressed like a boy – can be flattened like a boy!"

She grinned and returned the knives to her pockets. Leaving her hands dug down, she sprawled her legs and scratched. It proved her point splendidly.

Kid turned away hastily, "Meg! That's not – very ladylike!"

"Nope!" she agreed. "Works though! I did notice one woman looking at me, curiously. As soon as I started – adjusting myself – the way men do, she looked away, convinced I was just a ill-mannered youth! Besides," Meg scratched again, "- these things itch!"

"I'm not surprised," said Kid, "Look like they're made o' woven horsehair."

"Horrid aren't they? Did you notice how Kate had the scissors to them in two seconds flat? Before Emerson saw what she'd picked for me to wear! She hates them! He says they're genuine heavy duty Harris tweed, from the Hebrides. He used to wear them out hill walking, with a group of his old college friends. I went once. It was REALLY stupid – an hour's drive into the country side, just to traipse three hours, all the way to the top and sit looking at the view. AND they insisted on lighting a fire to brew coffee, without using matches, even though I'd brought some. AND they played silly quotation capping tag games – and were cross, when I beat them. Well, Emerson wasn't. He doesn't get all defensive, just because a woman is clever – and anyway, he's fairly well read, so I don't ALWAYS beat him." Meg glanced at the clock. "Another ten minutes – then I'll run back – before it's time for you to set out." She grinned, "I've been practising masculine belching too – to go with the uncouth scratching!"

She demonstrated. No reaction. She did it again, louder.

"You expectin' me to clap or somethin'? You're not funny!"

"Yes I am – Joshua thinks I'm a hoot!" She sprang up and looked at herself in the glass, "Did he think I looked fetching in this cap?"

"Disturbingly enticin'!" sniffed Kid.

She turned and looked at him suddenly shy, "Is that what he said, Thaddeus?"

"Yup! Mind – he reckons he looks good in that Derby!"

Looking in the glass again, Meg licked her finger and smoothed the arch of an eyebrow. She moistened her lips and tilting her head to one side, tried a pout.

"Meg!" protested Kid. "You do realise, the whole reason you're dressed up is so you DON'T attract any attention from men headin' to Venus Alley! Not to stand around flutterin' your eyes an' puckerin' up like – like Mary Sue!"

She wheeled round, with a resigned shrug and threw herself back in a chair, "Do you think I should be carrying a gun, Thaddeus?"

"No!" he said bluntly.

"I wouldn't fire it – just point it if anyone bothers me – run like crazy as soon as they back off."

Kid looked at her. She did look believably like a boy. But, as Heyes had already noticed, she also looked very cute. Seeing her flushed after her run, eyes sparkling with excitement, Kid did not feel as comfortable as he had earlier she was immune from all the tastes wandering in the direction of Mercury Street.

Meg saw him wavering, her eyes fell to his holster.

"You don't think I'm handin' this over?" exploded Kid. He shifted in his seat, "Does Emerson even own a gun?"

She shook her head regretfully. Then she sat bolt upright.

"Yes!" she crowed, "Charles Porter gave him one as a leaving present! Said it didn't seem right to head out to the Wild West without one. I remember – because he joked about it. He's English and insists, whatever anyone over here says, the best guns in the world are made in Birmingham! And he gave Emerson an English gun and stuck a little union jack on the wrapping paper."

"Know where it is?" asked Kid.

She screwed up her face, "I know the most obvious place."

She sprang up and grabbing Kid's hand dragged him along with her into the hall, then into a room at the back of the house. Kid looked around the study. He had noticed Heyes cast envious glances at the well-stocked bookcases in the sitting room and bedroom. He wondered what his partner would make of this – the wall was lined floor to ceiling.

"He read all these?" Kid breathed.

Meg, who was groping on a high shelf, looked round surprised, "Well a lot are reference works – but apart from that, I suppose so! There don't seem that many to me – but I tend to think of my father's study."

She smiled rather wistfully at the memory, as she located the key she was searching for. Meg unlocked the desk and began to rifle through the drawers.

"Thaddeus," she said unsurely.

"Yup?"

"I know Joshua is awfully clever – but do you actually think he's right about Mr. Carleton?"

"In what way?" frowned Kid.

"That he'll want to murder his wife – well not his wife, but the woman he's living with." Meg's forehead puckered, "I mean, they had a baby together – so he must have – cared about her. Mustn't he?"

"No," said Kid bluntly, "If a man cares about a woman, he don't tempt her into somethin' she's not happy with for his own selfish pleasure, an' risk leavin' her a belly load of trouble." Kid met Meg's eyes, "If a man meets someone he thinks he could come to care about – but isn't free to - court her right; if he's decent, he does his best not to hurt her. Might not even tell her – how special he thinks she is."

Meg caught his meaning and dropped her eyes with a blush. She could not help catching her bottom lip between her teeth in a delighted smile, knowing Joshua thought her 'special'.

Turning aside to hide this, she continued to search for the gun.

"Found it," she said, "Still in its case!"

Kid came over and took it from her. Opening the box, he gave a pursed mouth nod of approval.

"Pocket revolver - Webley 'British Bulldog'. Nice!"

"Not the best in the world, though?" asked Meg.

"No!" protested Kid, patriotically. Realising Meg was watching him stroke the barrel, he glanced up and grinned, "Not sayin' it ain't pretty close!"

He took the unopened box of bullets also laying in the drawer. As he loaded four of the five chambers, he said, "Goin' to take you out back – show you how to look as if you know what you're doing. If you convince me you can be trusted – I'll let you take it."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Twenty minutes later, Kid set off with Kate to work a combination of blackmail, bribery and corruption on Oliver Carleton.

"I heard Meg leave," remarked Kate, as she pulled the hood of her evening cloak, carefully, over her high swept hair, "Why didn't she come up to say good-bye?"

"She thought you might like a little privacy," said Kid.

"MEG!" exclaimed Kate. She smiled at him, "You mean you did!"

As they set off, Kid saw the smile fade from her face and a little crease appear, between her brows.

He looked at her anxiously, "You OK?"

"Oh, yes! It's nothing," she sighed, "It's just – we were discussing what we'll do next."

"Next?"

"All Emerson's savings were tied up in the press, racks and other equipment. Nothing is salvageable. Many of the advertising accounts pay in advance – it all has to be returned."

"I can't see anyone'd expect that – the fire wasn't your fault," objected Kid.

Kate cast him a glance, "Please don't! You might tempt me into agreeing with you – and I don't want him to know just how much I hate to leave. He feels bad enough already. Besides, it wouldn't make any difference. With no revenue coming in, how will we live? Meg, bless her heart, has offered us the fees she has coming for her last six books – and I have a horrid feeling, we might need to take it, to pay the Doctor's bill. Of course – I'll pay her back on quarter day." Seeing Kid frown, she explained, "My account is credited quarterly, with interest from money left in trust, by my mother." Kate sighed again, "I shouldn't complain, because we have that to fall back on, while Emerson is ill. But it's not enough to let us stay long term. Even if it were – he'd never agree to live off it."

Kid gave a little grin at this, "So – I'm not the only one with outta date, old fashioned ideas about a man bein' able to support his wife?"

She smiled back, "Touché, Thaddeus!"

"What will you do?" he asked, concerned.

"Probably move to Helena, once Emerson recovers. He should find a job there easily enough. He'll do as much freelance writing as he can in the evenings. I might find pupils to tutor in French and drawing. We'll save – start again next year, or the year after." She smiled, "Meg was worried she'd be packed off back to Boston labelled, 'not wanted on voyage'. But we'll always find room for her. Of course, we've told her she'll have to wear rags, eat gruel and sleep in the cinders – like one of her own heroines!"

Kate stopped.

"Thaddeus, would you mind awfully. if I hung onto you? I'm not doing very well in these heels. I seem to have lost the knack for walking in them."

"Sure," said Kid, adding awkwardly, "I didn't wanna grab hold of you, in case you thought I was – you know – startin' the act a bit early."

"I shall only think you've taken pity and don't want to see me fall flat on my face for the second time in three days!"

She let him tuck her hand into his arm and smiled gratefully up.

Kid cleared his throat. Very tentatively he asked, "This - printin' equipment – lost in the fire. What would it cost to replace? Because – Chris Lloyd has offered us a job guardin'…"

She forestalled him, "Good heavens, no! How kind you are! But, no!" She looked up at him earnestly, "Dear Thaddeus, I was only having a good grumble, to get it all off my chest! Please, please ignore me! Or tell me I'm a spoilt, rich girl, accustomed to being able to afford anything she wants. In that way, my stepmother did me a favour, by ensuring I couldn't touch a penny of my capital! At least I'm not tempted to put my foot in it, by bleating 'Let me buy you a new press, Darling'. Which is just as well – because I practically lost him once before, being completely tactless and stupid about money."

"I can't imagine you stupid, Kate. And whatever you did – I certainly can't imagine Emerson bein' anything other than crazy about you."

She blushed rosily.

Changing the subject, she said, "Will you do something for me, Thaddeus?"

"Sure."

"Let me know when we're about ten minutes away. Then, I'm going to assume the character of a cruel-hearted Jezebel. I do much better having someone definite to imitate –" Kate explained, "- so I shall be mimicking my stepmother."

Rather surprised at hearing a touch of venom in Kate's usually kind tones, Kid asked, "Is she a –"

"Cruel-hearted Jezebel?" finished Kate, "It may be a cliché to claim a wicked stepmother – but yes. She disliked Meg the moment she found she was at college through a scholarship. Rubbed her nose in being poor. She was heartless when Meg's father died. Meg had no one and nowhere to go. I invited her to stay – and my stepmother had her leave within a fortnight. I would have walked out too – but needed my allowance to pay Meg's rent, until she found a job. One must be practical. And of course, my stepmother did her very best to ensure I never married Emerson." Kate pursed her lips, "To be fair – she had spent most of the previous four years, manoeuvring me into the path of eligible, rich men; then exploding in fury, when I put them off, or turned them down. So, from her point of view, he was an awful disappointment." Kate smiled up at Kid, with a wicked twinkle, "But the main point for tonight is – she's a s.!"

Kid blinked, more at Kate's hissing delivery, than the word.

Kate nodded, "She is gorgeous. Gorgeous. And amazingly good at manipulating men into doing her bidding. Whether she is actually adulterous – I wouldn't like to say. Probably not. I suspect she enjoys abject begging and pleading, more than any warm-blooded, honest, sin! Unless Meg is right – and she is, in fact, part Praying Mantis!"

"Huh?"

"The females eat their mates. The male is so - enraptured – he carries on, even as his head and upper body is devoured!" Kate gnashed her teeth dramatically. Kid recoiled. Grinning, Kate went on, "I practised on Emerson. Mimicking her, I mean - not devouring his head! It sent a shiver down his spine. He told me it was as if she had walked into the room."

"Erm, Kate," ventured Kid.

"Yes?"

"At the risk of you turnin' into some kinda – cougar or coyote – we're less'n ten minutes away."

Immediately she looked up at him. The usual warm friendliness had definitely deepened, to what could fairly be described as the beginnings of a 'smoulder'.

Her tip-tilted smile played around her mouth, as she laid a soft hand on his shirtfront and pouted, "Oh Thaddeus, are you frightened I might bite?" Her lids lowered slowly, before flashing a glowing glance, through dusky lashes, "I promise - nothing beyond the most gentle – nip!"

Kid's eyes widened. "You are – bein' her – aren't you?" he checked.

"Of course I am!"

A languorous look swept slowly over him, as they turned into Mercury Street.

"Surely a man like you can - appreciate me – like this, Thaddeus? That dull, oh-so-good girl we left behind just now – wasn't she – a little too 'vanilla' for your taste?"

"Might want to tone it down, Kate," cautioned Kid, "We want Carleton distracted enough to loosen up an' talk. Not foamin' at the mouth!"

Watching Kate's hips sway rhythmically up the steps of the Dumas place, in front of him, he added under his breath, "Might wanna consider whether I'm gonna be much use havin' to bite the cushions to keep from screamin', too! Sometimes, Heyes..."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Less than three minutes later, Lucille heard a stone rattle against her window, on the West side of the building. Opening the sash, she watched her barred lover first hoist himself onto the low roof of the back storeroom, then helped him inside.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN **

As soon as the heavy at the entrance saw Kid come in, he twitched aside a curtain and signalled. Caleb Williams sat in the concealed alcove. His weapon was already drawn, as he, nervously, beckoned Curry forward.

"An' – she's with me!" said Kid firmly, as Kate pushed back her satin hood and hooked her arm through his.

Caleb looked her up and down. Kid kept his expression neutral. The likelihood that Thaddeus Jones would not keep his appointment alone had been considered, but she was not the expected second party. Clearly seeing no reason to consider her an extra threat, he unlocked the door within the alcove and allowed both Kate and Kid to pass through.

Nodding at an apartment across a lushly carpeted foyer, from which stairs curved up to the first floor, he drawled, "Wait in there."

He closed the alcove door behind them. They heard the heavy lock being turned on the other side.

Kid shot a glance at Kate, but said nothing. He felt in his gut – they could be overheard. He moved to enter the room indicated.

Kate forestalled him, "Ladies first," she smiled, still allowing her eyes to linger flirtatiously.

It took a second and Kate was through the door, before he understood. Worried Carleton, or his hired gun, might shoot Kid on sight, she meant to stay in front as a human shield.

In the event her caution was unnecessary. The lavishly furnished room was empty. A covert glance at the polished stove showed it stood – just the smallest fraction – open. Kate unfastened the clasp of her cloak. She cast an expectant pout over her shoulder at Kid. Starting, he stepped forward to take it from her and folded it across an overstuffed chaise lounge. Kate moved first to the looking glass to adjust the gauze around her décolleté. Then stepping back, she surveyed the artwork displayed on either side. Kid felt his cheeks grow warm. Not so much at the paintings' subjects, but at seeing her study them.

"Ingres – from the look of the curves," remarked Kate, "Someone's made a very competent job of copying his style!" She spun round, "But why would you want to look at a picture, when I'm here, Thaddeus?"

She reached an arm round his neck and kissed him on the lips. For a moment, he was too stunned to react. Then, involuntarily, he responded. His hands clasped her waist, though whether to pull her closer, or hold her away – he was not sure.

He felt her mouth move to his ear, "I do apologise," she murmured, in a matter of fact tone, so close her breath warmed his skin, "but I saw a shadow move in a gap at the edge of the frame. We are being watched!"

"I never wanna look at anythin' else when you're around," he replied, out loud for the hidden observer, "Can't keep my eyes off you. You're – you're lovely!" Kid flushed at the end. He had meant to say 'beautiful'. Lovely was the word he associated with the real Kate; since in his mind it encompassed the way she thought, spoke, smiled and behaved. A hollow 'beautiful' would have matched fake Kate, much better.

Thankfully, he saw just a shadow of the genuine article, in a tiny twitch of a sceptical brow, above the smoky, seductive eyes. Real Kate, was innocently pleased to see Thaddeus Jones, finally join the role-play; he was in no danger of her believing a word of it. Having her immune to his charms, might be an unaccustomed dent to his vanity, but Kid – to quote his partner, "Reckoned it beat all hell outta the alternative." He did not think he could take the disillusion. What is more – Meg had never really come up with a satisfactory line with which pure-hearted Kid Curry could believably reject glorious, enticing Fatima. Real, mixed-up Kid had little confidence he was any better at composing an off-the-cuff script to display 'firm manly resolve'. Recognising he could throw Kate on the chaise and kiss her from now till morning, without raising either her suspicion, or her pulse by so much as a beat, Kid forced himself to relax. He had successfully helped scam Winford Fletcher and Horace Wingate – he could do the same to a skunk like Oliver Carleton! Of course, considered Kid prudently, as his own heartbeat returned to normal - he would pass on the chaise.

There was a sound from the direction of the door, in the far corner of the room. Again, before he could stop her, Kate moved in front of Kid, to block any line of fire. The door opened. The young hired gun Kid had outdrawn earlier that day, at the Silver Dollar, strode through, weapon already drawn and levelled. His complete lack of surprise at seeing Kate, confirmed well enough – they had been watched. He glowered, resentfully, at the ex-outlaw. Kid responded with an indifferent shrug.

Oliver Carleton entered the room. His hireling made a show of covering him, moving closer to Kid and narrowing his scowl to demonstrate focussing on a target.

Kid met Carleton's gaze.

Flicking his eyes toward the gunslinger, he said, "Am I supposed to be impressed? You wanna see me outdraw him for the second time today – or do you wanna hear what we've come to say?"

The smile on Carleton's face watching the younger man's chagrined expression, showed he had already heard that Kid had outpaced his second supposed fast-draw in a week. Stepping over, he selected a cigar from a box on the desk.

Clipping the end, he replied, "I might have already heard what you've come to say. What I haven't heard is - why you brought her -" his eyes lingered over Kate, appreciatively, "– not that I can't see the attraction of having Mrs. Connor's company any time. And, why I should believe in this – change of heart – over the possibility of working for me?" His eyes snapped to Kid's face, "Thought that smart mouthed partner of yours objected to my offer?"

Kate sidled up to Carleton. Taking the El Rey del Mundo from his fingers, she placed it, daintily, between her own lips and lifted the ornate Döbereiner lighter, standing next to the box. Lighting it leisurely and taking one unhurried inhalation, she placed the cigar back in Carleton's mouth. Holding his eyes - she extinguished the flame, with a long, slow blow. A tendril of blue-grey smoke curled from her lips. She allowed the tip of her pink tongue to be seen, savouring the moist spot, where the wrapping leaf had rested.

"Mr. Jones prefers to listen to his new partner. Maybe he finds her mouth – much, much –" she flickered a smile up at Carleton, " – smarter?"

Having spent over forty years on this earth, this was not enough to have Oliver Carleton 'biting the cushions'. He had, however, found Kate – diverting. As for the younger man. He was not far past twenty-two and had honed his gun-skills in environments suffering a definite shortage of ladies. By the time the plump, moist cigar left her pouting lips, she had captured his undivided attention. His eyes had ceased to flick back and forth from her to Kid and the barrel of his weapon wavered off target, in a slackening grip.

As Kate finished her final word 'smarter', Curry's gun leapt into his hand. The two men's eyes swivelled to him, the youngster torn how to react.

Kid said calmly, "Bang!"

A beat.

"So," he went on, "– you've been reminded why you were so keen to make me an offer. An' you've seen – if I'd come here to kill you – I could!" He twirled his gun back into his holster with a flourish.

The hired gunslinger raised his gun again, then lowered it uncertainly – looking foolish.

Kid smiled at Carleton, "Can we quit dancin' around now and talk?"

"So, talk!" said Carleton.

"In private," breathed Kate, her eyes flicking to the youngster, "Firstly, because what you have here, is a boy trying to do a man's job. Secondly, because we have a proposal –" she looked up at Carleton, "And I'm sure he'd find it – very dull! Lastly, because I have so much reminiscing to do."

"Reminiscing?" repeated Carleton, warily.

"Reminiscing about Boston," explained Kate. She sat down and arranged her skirts prettily. Glancing up, she smiled, "Remembering all the girls I knew, growing up on Beacon Hill." She paused, "And all those I didn't." Carleton caught her meaning. "Unless of course," queried Kate, wide-eyed with assumed innocence, " – you think your staff WOULD find that interesting after all?" She paused, "How rude of me – I forgot to ask, how is – Mrs. Carleton?"

He stared at her, torn between anger and reluctant admiration. Taking a weapon for himself from the desk, he strode over to the door leading to the foyer. He wrenched it open.

"Get out!" he ordered the young gunslinger. Seeing him about to protest, he snapped, "All the way out!" He waited until the man signalled to exit back to the main part of the house and the lock turned behind him, before slamming closed the door of the apartment and throwing himself into a seat opposite Kate. "You had – a proposal?" he prompted.

"I propose -" began Kate, "– that you repeat your offer for the Butte Weekly Herald – making the purchase price a nice round $10,000. But this time Mr. Carleton – I suggest you approach the more," she smiled, "– commercially minded of the two owners."

"What does 'I can't be bought' Connor have to say about that?" he asked bluntly.

Kate shook her head sadly, "Dear Emerson," she breathed, flashing a significant glance through artistically lowered lashes, "Those injuries he sustained in the fire are such a worry. Something tells me – he won't recover. He'll never get to read the background which came in on the Hamiltons." With a turn to Kid, she added, with exaggerated feminine helplessness, "Each time I measure out laudanum to dull his pain - my hand shakes with the responsibility, doesn't it Thaddeus?"

"Like a leaf," confirmed Kid.

"Uh huh?" said Carleton, processing this. He narrowed his eyes and glanced from Kid to Kate suspiciously, "Look Mrs. Connor – you and I have never been exactly well acquainted. But I'd always assumed you shared your husband's opinions on – "

"Morals? Probity? Politics?" suggested Kate, as he paused, "Oh, Mr. Carleton, I find my husband's opinions admirable. Admirable! Of course, my family objected most strongly to his politics, his profession, his lack of fortune. But he was so different to all the men they considered suitable! You know how silly young girls can be – defying their family, kissing goodbye to their expectations – all for love. It seems so romantic - " she paused, then added with a meaning glance, " - at the time."

Oliver Carleton considered this. He remembered the stubborn pleasure Lydia had taken in ignoring her brother's objections to their marriage. She had, of course, regretted her decision.

"How well I remember our first winter here," sighed Kate, smiling wistfully up at Carleton, "Long evenings transcribing shorthand notes for political articles. Taking minutes at union meetings. The fun of tapping in row after row of letter sets in that chilly office. Learning how to manage on a budget. And dear Emerson – so serious, so committed – " Kate flicked another speaking glance at Carleton, "– So inexperienced about - life."

Carleton gave a short laugh.

Allowing his eyes to wander over her body, he said, "I always thought a woman like you, was wasted on him!"

"Same here," declared Kid. He allowed a smug look to settle on his features.

Kate gave a little self-deprecating shrug and flashed them both a glowing glance.

She went on, "When – " Kate stopped herself, hand prettily covering her mouth, "Of course – I mean if. IF Emerson dies, I will naturally be too stricken with grief to remain here. Thaddeus thinks I would appreciate somewhere quiet and retired – to recover."

"That's right," chimed in Curry.

"We thought perhaps – San Francisco?" pouted Kate, tilting her head on one side to elicit a reaction from Carleton.

"Long journey," he remarked warily, waiting for more.

"That's what I thought," smiled Kate, "You see, Thaddeus, Mr. Carleton agrees! If we started new lives in San Francisco, I doubt we would EVER return to Butte." She leaned forward and laid a soft hand over Carlton's. Gazing into his eyes, she said, "Do you know what I think? I don't believe we'd even remember Butte, or anything that happened here." She turned, "Don't you agree, Thaddeus?"

"Never was one for dwellin' on what's past," concurred Kid.

Carleton puffed on his cigar, looking meditatively at Kate.

"I think, Mrs. Connor, if you became the sole remaining owner of what's left of the Butte Weekly Herald – I'd be willing to purchase it for $10,000."

Kate smiled a 'thank you', but said bluntly, "No. It's cash up front."

This mercenary attitude seemed to finally convince Carleton of the genuine nature of the offer being made.

"If you're dishing out the laudanum," he pointed with his cigar at Curry, "- what do you want him for?" He gave another bark of laughter, "Apart from the obvious?"

Kid lowered his eyes to hide a flare of anger at this remark. When he raised them, he was again poker faced.

"Thaddeus also has a proposal for you, Mr. Carleton," said Kate smoothly, "Or perhaps I should say – a wager. He thinks you would be interested in betting with him on a certain – eventuality."

"What – eventuality – would that be, Jones?" asked Carleton, "Or do you still not speak for yourself?"

"I'm kinda – taciturn, Mr. Carleton," smiled Kid, "Tend to leave talkin' to my commercially minded partner, here."

Again, Carleton surveyed Kate, ruminatively.

He blew a slow smoke ring, "I think that may be a wise choice. So, Mrs. Connor, what is the nature of this – wager?"

"Thaddeus would like to wager, you will be a widower within 24 hours of your next departure for Anaconda. And that nothing will connect you with your –" Kate smiled, "- your 'wife's' – sad demise."

Oliver Carleton looked at Kid, then back at Kate.

"What makes you think I'd be interested in a long shot bet like that?" he asked carefully.

Kid grinned, "Women's intuition."

Kate threw him a knowing glance.

To Carleton, she said, "My intuition tells me, if an old acquaintance from Boston or Chicago visits – you'd like to be in a position to accept condolences. The alternative might be - unfortunate."

Another smoke ring rose into the air. Kate stood and walked over to admire her reflection in the looking glass. This also brought her closer to the stove. She smiled at the reflection of Oliver Carleton watching her, but waited out the silence.

"What's the wager?" Carleton finally asked.

"$10,000," responded Kate, "Up front."

"That a favourite sum with you?"

"I never haggle," she twined a curl of hair around her finger and threw him a glance over one shoulder, "- it's so – unfeminine!"

Carleton looked at Kid, "Has he got $10,000 to lose?"

Kid let his blue eyes take on the hard, icy quality the mine owner had reacted to earlier in the week.

"I don't intend to lose!" he stated baldly.

Carleton cleared his throat, "There would be – conditions – requirements. In case one of the family lawyers insists on attending any inquest."

"I know," said Kid, "The face will be – a mess."

The mine owner reached for the box on the desk. Flipping it open he offered it to Curry.

"Care for a cigar – to seal our – wager?"

Kid smiled and flicked his eyes to Kate.

"You gonna light one for me too?" he asked.

Carleton stood up. He laid his gun down on the desk.

"While she's doing that –" he nodded at the door, in the far corner of the room, "– you'll find champagne through there. Why don't you open up a bottle, Jones. We'll raise a toast," he smiled meaningfully at Kate, "– to our respective spouses' – good health!"

"Is it chilled?" checked Kate, pouting.

"I have ice delivered daily. I know ladies appreciate – attention to detail."

Kid hesitated, but Kate motioned him with her eyes to comply, as she clipped the end from the second cigar.

As his hand turned the handle, she forestalled him, "Oh Thaddeus," she called.

"Uh huh?"

"Remember, the sound of a champagne cork being eased from the bottle should remind one of a slow, lingering kiss," she demonstrated, "Never a sudden pop – that lacks – finesse!"

She opened her mouth, slightly tilted up her chin and gracefully closed her lips around the cigar.

"Wouldn't wanna be without that," agreed Kid.

He left the room, but did not close the door. Carleton joined Kate, who was now lighting the cigar.

Standing close he breathed, "Just so we understand each other. You're only using him until the job's done – right?"

She removed the cigar, with an elegant twist of her wrist.

"Mr. Jones?" exhaled Kate, meeting his eyes in the glass, "How can you suggest such a thing? He means – more than I can say!"

"Not more than you can say," he replied, evenly, "- Try!"

Kate's smile widened in appreciation.

"Well, in the event of any accident, I would naturally expect the winnings from any recent wagers he had placed."

He nodded.

She made a moue, suggestive of serious consideration

"And any future man in my life, would need to be not only – diverting – as Thaddeus, but to have additional qualities. Qualities that grow and mature over time. Assets a woman can truly – rely on."

From behind, Carleton pressed against Kate, slipping a hand around her waist to pull her tight.

"Does anyone spring to mind?" he said.

She took a second pull on the cigar, turned her head and let a trickle of smoke drift into his eyes.

"Why, Mr. Carleton," she protested, "– are you not expecting to be prostrate with grief?"

"I'm not expecting to be prostrate with anything!" He pressed closer, "Quite the opposite." Touching her hand, he sneered, "Call that a ring? A woman like you ought to be decked out in diamonds – not that piece of junk."

For a moment Kate lowered her lashes. She guessed many, many long evenings of extra work had been done to pay for that ring. More importantly, she had never doubted her shimmering moonstone, banded in rose gold, had been chosen with care and with a fervent hope that she would love it.

Swallowing down her anger, she objected teasingly, "But, would I – and my diamonds - disappear on a journey? Or would we suffer some - mishap -whilst you were away at the smelting works?"

"You're not comparing yourself to Lydia, too conceited to realise the only thing a man could want her for was the money? Or –" he laughed, "- to that whining fool out at West Hill, always crying and bleating 'you do love me, don't you?'."

"Did you ever?" she asked quietly.

"No. She was just – available. Dull – but available. Now you," he let his hand run back down, to her waist, "- I don't believe you'd ever be dull!"

They heard the sound of returning footsteps. Carleton stepped back. Kid came back in, bottle in one hand, three glasses clutched in the other.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

In the room directly above Carleton's apartment, Heyes looked at the stricken woman beside him. He gently moved her away from the stove and closed it, before her smothered tears threatened to become audible.

"Heard enough?" he asked quietly, "Ready to go to the law?"

For a moment she hesitated, letting go of the last shreds of hope. Then she nodded. Heyes listened a moment longer to the conversation below. Kid and Kate appeared to be winding it up, readying to leave. Nothing suggested lingering suspicion on Carleton's part.

"Alright," said Heyes, "Let's get you outta here. We'll meet up with Meg, Miss Spencer and she can go with you to the Sheriff – he'll arrange some kind of protection. Need to slip out the back way, nice an' quiet."

She nodded again and made an effort to pull herself together, gulping down a final sob. He smiled at her encouragingly, as if to say, 'well done'.

Heyes opened the door cautiously peering out. Music drifted from the main reception rooms. Voices and laughter could be heard from a variety of directions, but the way seemed clear. He led Ellen down the stairs at the end of the passage. At the bottom, as they headed for the door to the back of the East wing, a lightening fast hand reached from the dark alcove beneath the stairway.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

MEANWHILE… on a Butte back street.

As the signal continued to flicker 'no problem', Meg was finding her role as backup a little restricted. She had moved her location slightly, as a couple of other adolescent youths were hanging around the same quiet back street. Knowing well enough that the best place to put any one pin, so it won't be noticed, is in a pin cushion; Meg had strolled over to slouch near the other youths, wasting time on Saturday night. She knew one of the lads as Ned Kingsley from the post office, but as far she could tell, he did not find her face familiar. Meg grinned to herself. On her one meeting with him, she could have climbed on the counter and tap-danced; Ned still would not have dragged his eyes away from Kate, long enough to look at her properly.

Meg had not heard the topic under discussion between Ned and his companion. As the argument had reached the, 'Lay you odds it is!', 'Bet it ain't!', 'T'is!', 'Nah!', 'Bet it is!', 'Nah!', - stage; she supposed it would remain a mystery.

The unknown youth wandered off, back in the direction of the main street. Ned glanced at the stranger leaning on the hitching post. Meg glowered back with what she hoped was suitably adolescent sulkiness. Taking out a pocket knife, Ned began to repeatedly throw it into and retrieve it from, a patch of grass. She watched this for a minute or two. Then she took out her own knife and began to whittle – fake – initials into the post.

Ned wandered over, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Nuthin'" grunted Meg, remembering to lower the pitch of her voice a tone.

Ned kicked up a little dirt with his boot.

He tried again, "Wanna stick knife?"

"Nope."

She carried on whittling a flourishing 'S.K.' into the wood.

"Ain't seen a knife like that before," remarked Ned, trying not to sound interested.

Meg sniffed.

Deciding she had displayed enough lack of social grace to pass for sixteen, she unbent a little.

"Wanna see?" She handed it over, "Got two blades, an' other tools that might be useful."

Ned tested the edge of the serrated blade.

Sucking a drop of blood from his thumb, he passed it back, impressed.

"Suppose it's OK!"

He kicked up a little more dust.

"You heard the rumour goin' round?" he asked.

"Heard nuthin'"

"You know Deke Simons ain't workin' for Mr. Carleton no more?" went on Ned.

"That's old!" dismissed Meg, spitting into the dirt.

"That ain't it!" protested Ned, "Carleton's hired a new gunslinger – arrived in town today. Supposed to be even faster than Simons! Well – Ben , who just left, says he knows who it is!"

"Uh huh," said Meg. Seeing the smug look on the now silent Ned's face, she urged, "Go on!"

He grinned, pleased.

"Ben helps in the store opposite the Silver Dollar – he saw this new fast-draw, meetin' up with Caleb Williams an' some of Carleton's other gunslingers. AND Ben's sister - she works in the laundry, which does the washin' for the Dumas place. SHE heard one of the delivery men tell his girl – who works next to her – that he'd heard Lucille – that's one of the Dumas girls – talkin' 'bout –" Ned stopped himself and decided to prolong the suspense, "- heard her usin' a certain name. Name of a REAL famous gunslinger. So Ben thinks – he knows who it is Carleton's hired."

He stopped.

"Uh huh?" grunted Meg, "Who?"

Ned swelled himself up to deliver the impressive name.

"Kid Curry!"

"KID CURRY!" squeaked Meg, completely forgetting to lower her voice, or drawl her speech, "That is appalling! Thaddeus might be a match for Deke Simons – but Jedediah Curry is, reportedly, the fastest and most accurate shot ever seen! He must be – he has evaded capture for nine years! Good heavens! If Kid Curry has been retained by Mr. Carleton – and I suppose it is not impossible, since Mr. Carleton is excessively wealthy – he may be inside the Dumas place right now. I have to warn them!"

Ned gaped at this sudden, perfectly enunciated fluency, delivered in decidedly feminine tones. Surely he had heard that voice before. He bent down, to peer more closely at the face under the low brimmed cap.

"Miss – Miss Spender?" he queried, "Is that you?"

"It's Spencer!" corrected Meg. She dropped her voice, "An' no it ain't!"

"You shouldn't be out alone after dark, ma-am."

"Well –" argued Meg, dropping her pretence, "– neither should you!" Sternly, she added, "I'm sure your father doesn't know you are out, in the middle of the night. Does he?"

"You ain't gonna tell on me, ma-am? I ain't doin' nothin'! I just climb outta my room sometimes – to meet Ben."

"To do nothing," finished Meg, with a smile. She believed him. Looking back, when she and Kate had shimmied down conveniently placed trees to break their curfew – they had spent their stolen evenings fairly innocently, doing not much. The escape was pretty much the point. She returned to the original topic, "Do you really think Mr. Carleton can have hired Kid Curry?"

"Dunno," shrugged Ned, "Ben thinks so – but that don't prove nuthin'"

"I saw a gunslinger meet Mr. Carleton, at the station," remembered Meg, "Sunburnt face. Strutting walk. Green shirt."

"That's him!" confirmed Ned. "I mean, ma-am –" he clarified, "– that's definitely the man who's been hired. I don't know if it's Curry."

Meg recalled the wanted posters she had read, earlier in the week.

"He was fair haired," she said, "– and I think blue eyed. He'd have been close to five foot eleven." She puckered her brow, "He didn't look old enough to be Kid Curry, who now must be twenty eight, maybe twenty nine. But it's not always easy to tell a man's age! After all, Kid Curry does have 'boyish features'." Meg stopped and frowned, "Or did I make that up?" She looked earnestly at Ned, "I have overlain so much ridiculous, romantic detail onto my fictional outlaws, I can't remember whether the original background material actually mentioned him looking 'boyish'?"

Ned, who had no idea that Meg wrote, let alone the subject of her latest work, did not follow all this. But he caught the gist of her question.

"He might look 'boyish'," he ventured, "After all – if he's as old as all that, pushin' thirty – why else call him 'Kid'!"

Meg nodded. She continued to frown.

Ned looked at her. He had no idea why she was here, wearing – he hesitated, even in his own thoughts over the word used in conjunction with a girl – pants. But, carefully tutored in polite behaviour to ladies, he WAS sure of his next step.

"Let me walk you home, ma-am," he offered.

"HOME!" protested Meg, "I can't go home! I must warn Joshua and Thaddeus that Mr. Carleton may have Kid Curry laying in wait at the Dumas place. They have to hurry up and get Kate out of there!"

"Kate!" exclaimed Ned, horrified. "You don't mean that –" he dropped his voice reverently, "– Mrs. Connor, has been taken into that place?"

Meg's mind was working. If there was a problem – she had given her word of honour she would not interfere – but go for the law.

But.

According to the signal in the window – there was no problem. Not yet. Given an 'OK' signal, her orders were not to panic and NOT to tell the law anything about tonight's plan. Because ideally, the involvement of Joshua and Thaddeus, would be kept quiet. She and Kate would escort Ellen Fraser to make the confession that would see Oliver Carleton arrested. Her change of heart would be credited to female solidarity: Ellen's discovery of the attack on Kate's husband; Kate and Meg's suspicions of Ellen's true identity and intuitive fear of Carleton's intentions. Messrs. Smith and Jones would stay modestly in the background, not drawing the Sheriff's attention. They would face no awkward questions about discoveries in the safe at West Hill, nor about Thaddeus' extreme desirability, when posing as a gunslinger for hire.

Was there a way, Meg wondered, she could keep her word to go for the law, WITHOUT alerting the Sheriff that Joshua, Thaddeus and Kate were scheming to have Oliver Carleton solicit murder. AND – to obey her instinct to get a warning to her friends, that an unexpected complication - in the shape of the real Kid Curry - had been added to the plot. Gazing back at chivalrous, young Ned Kingsley, she thought there might be.

"Mr. Kingsley," she began, entreatingly. Ned drew himself up a little. "Mr. Kingsley," went on Meg, "– you wouldn't want Mrs. Connor in any danger would you?"

"NO!" he exclaimed, "– I should go get her outta there!" He scowled and beat one curled fist into his other hand, "When I get holda them two skunks that dragged her there…Knew they couldn't be trusted…Him kissin' her hand like that!….Pretendin' to be so friendly… That snake in the grass!"

"No, no, no!" protested Meg, "Mrs. Connor went to the Dumas of her own free will. For reasons which – " she took a breath, then decided any explanation would be far too complicated, "– for reasons which I cannot divulge! BUT –" she stared, sternly, at Ned, "– I can assure you, her motives are of the purest and most honourable nature! Her relations with Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones are – spotless!"

"I'd never believe a word against –" again the reverent dip of the voice, "– Mrs. Connor," he said.

Meg decided she had neither the time, nor the persuasiveness, to also sign up Ned Kingsley as an enthusiastic admirer of Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones. Probably, he would consider any man with whom Kate exchanged a civil word a potential – snake in the grass.

"I hafta go bring her out!" repeated Ned.

"NO!" snapped Meg. Forcing herself to return to entreating, soft tones, she went on, "What I want you to do, please, is go to the Sheriff's office. Tell him, you've been informed that notorious outlaw, Kid Curry, is inside the Dumas. He's been recognised. The Sheriff has to find and apprehend a young, blond, red-faced gunman in a green shirt. DON'T mention Kate, - Mrs Connor – at all. Nor the others." Ned looked doubtful. "- Because," continued Meg smoothly, "– it would be bound to cause talk! You wouldn't want to be responsible for men – bandying her name – would you?"

"NO!" exclaimed Ned. He began to mutter, again pounding a fist into his cupped palm, "– Jus' let me hear anyone bandy her name! Jus' let anyone so much as MENTION her name – I'll know what to do!"

Meg dipped her head, so the cap's brim concealed a roll of her eyes.

"Will you do that, Mr. Kingsley?" she asked, with an appealing look, "Meanwhile, I'll run and try to warn Thaddeus. With luck, he'll have concluded his – business – by now; and they can be leaving before you return with the law!."

"Wouldn't it be better for you to go the law, ma-am?" he argued, "'Cause – you really shouldn't go down Mercury Street. I'll go find Mrs. Connor."

"No!" said Meg, "I'll scoot round by the back streets anyway and I know exactly where they are! Joshua is so well organised! He had Thaddeus draw us the most detailed layout of the East wing and of the surrounding alleys. So, please, PLEASE, Mr. Kingsley," she pleaded, " – DO promise to do as I ask. Go and tell the Sheriff, he needs to check out the Dumas place – to discover and arrest Kid Curry."

"Well…." hesitated Ned, brought up not to refuse ladies' requests for help.

"Oh thank you! I KNEW I could rely on you!" exclaimed Meg, quickly. She reached up and kissed his cheek, "I'll tell Kate how absolutely WONDERFUL you were!"

With that, she forestalled further argument, by turning on her heel and sprinting off at top speed. Ned gaped after the retreating figure. Realising he had no chance, whatsoever, of catching her – he set off obediently, in the direction of the Sheriff's office.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Deputies Baker and Daly were sharing a companionable silence and strong, inky-black coffee, during a break between their rounds. They started, as the door of the Sheriff's office burst open, admitting a breathless Ned Kingsley.

"You gotta get to the Dumas place!" he gasped.

"What's happened?" asked Zeb Daly, reaching for his hat.

"Kid Curry's in there!"

The two deputies exchanged glances.

"Uh huh?" grunted Baker, "Wouldn't be you, or that Ben saw him, would it?"

"Ben did – yeah!" nodded Ned.

Daly replaced his hat on the desk.

"Like he saw Billy the Kid two years ago and like you swore blind that Black Bart was in town last summer?" he said, with a grin at Baker.

"This is different!" protested Ned, "We were jus' kids back then. Besides – it's someone else sent me, now. She described him. Told me to say she'd recognised him. She knew it was Kid Curry."

The feminine pronoun took the deputies by surprise. Perhaps this was more than just adolescent boys' imagination.

"Who?" asked Daly, as both deputies stood and began to check their guns.

"Miss Spencer!" said Ned.

Zeb Daly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Miss Margaret Spencer – staying with the Connors," he checked.

"Yup."

Deputy Daly sat down, propped his boots back firmly on the desk and picked up his coffee mug.

"That –" a gentleman, he controlled himself, "– that lady, spent yesterday afternoon doin' nothin' but talk my ear off about Kid Curry an' Hannibal Heyes. Never heard nothin' like it. Was tellin' me how Kid Curry can shoot a bullet outta the air when he's blindfold; how he can leap from a gallopin' horse to the roof of a speedin' train without rufflin' his curls; how he can disarm five men carryin' a swoonin' woman, without lettin' her lovely head leave the safe crook of his arm! The woman's got outlaws on the brain!"

"She is writin' a book on 'em!" excused Deputy Baker, mildly, although he too sat down and took up his coffee. He smiled, "Real takin' little thing, I thought. I like to hear her chatter on – don't know how she thinks of it all!"

"She didn't get your boots soakin' wet, pickin' flowers and keep fiddlin' round strippin' off an' puttin' on stockings till you didn't know where to look!" said Daly, darkly, "An' 'chatter on' – don't begin to describe the non-stop yakkin' I had to listen to!"

"So – you ain't goin'?" exclaimed Ned.

Deputy Baker glanced at the clock.

"Next round's due in ten minutes," he said, "Tell you what, we'll head out an' start at the Dumas place. Go in – jus' check there's no trouble."

"But he might have – shot someone - by then!" protested Ned.

Zeb Daly grinned, "If Kid Curry IS in the Dumas, he'll have better things to do than shoot anyone!" He exchanged a glance with Deputy Baker, "Another few years and you'll find that out, son!"

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Back in the East wing of the Dumas Place. Deke Simons pulled Ellen close to him, his right hand across her mouth, fingers cruelly digging into her injured face. The barrel of his gun bruised into her side, close to her heart.

Soon after he had begun to work for Oliver Carleton, Simons had his girl sneak and copy the keys to both ground and first floor doors to the private East wing. He was not a man to pass by future chances of spying out information to get additional income from his employer.

Concealing himself, he had hoped to get the drop on Jones – or Curry - as he left. Hearing footsteps descending the stairs, he saw that smart mouthed partner of Kid's pass. Finding the woman in his arms was not some Dumas lovely, but the reclusive 'Mrs. Carleton' Deke's mind began to work furiously.

Heyes hand instinctively reached for his holster, but seeing Ellen shielding Deke's body and her danger, he stopped.

Meeting the gunslinger's eyes with cold disdain, he raised his hands slightly.

"Don't hurt her."

"I don't know what's going on," sneered Deke, "But I mean to find out." He jerked the gun in Ellen's ribs, "Reckon Carleton don't know you're here, ma-am – I think it's time for you to go say 'hello'." Her eyes widened in fright, pleading with Heyes to help. She struggled to free herself. Deke wrenched the hand covering her mouth tighter, gouging into the tender flesh. She subsided, tears of pain trickling over her cheeks. Heyes eyes flashed in anger, but this merely made the hired gun smile. "You," he said, indicating the door to Carleton's suite, "lead the way. Use your left hand. Keep the right one raised – where I can see it. If your partner feels like showing off that quick draw – be on you."

Heyes turned the handle and stepped inside, conscious of the threatened woman held behind him. As the door opened, Kid leapt to his feet. Seeing the malicious face of Deke Simons close behind his partner he made an automatic move for his gun. Heyes gave a small shake of his head and flashed him a mute warning. With an effort Kid relaxed his hand back by his side.

Carleton also rose in surprise as the door opened, grabbing the weapon he had laid upon the desk.

His surprise turned to cold fury, as he saw Ellen clasped in Deke's grasp.

"What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay home." His mind began to work as his eyes moved from her to Heyes, still with his hands raised, to the triumphant gloating look on Deke Simons' face. Still levelling his gun he asked, "Has she been listening?"

Ellen's expression of mingled fear and reproach, answered that question, despite her futile effort to shake her head. The details of what had happened may have continued to elude Carleton – but he understood the broad sweep. Aiming his gun at Kid, while his eyes moved from Kid to Kate, Carleton breathed, "And you two – you two were in on it? Making a fool of me?" He let his eyes linger on Kate, if anything even more admiringly than before. No longer playing her role, a flush crimsoned her from neck to forehead under his gaze, "You clever little Jezebel! You clever, lying, two-faced, b__!"

Anger flared hot in Kid's eyes and he took an impetuous step forward despite the gun levelled at him. Carleton, whip quick, caught Kate's wrist with his free left hand. Twisting her arm cruelly, eliciting an involuntary cry of pain, he dragged her close. Holding the now halted Kid's eyes, Carleton let the barrel of his gun travel slowly up the curve of Kate's bodice, until it rested in the hollow of her throat.

"I don't think so, Jones," he gloated. "Do you?"

"Somethin' else you oughta know," offered Deke Simons, "His name ain't 'Jones'." He met Kid's eyes, "Is it?" His glance flicked toward Heyes, "I don't suppose this one's called 'Smith' neither." Kid flashed a look at his partner and saw this development was as new to Heyes as to him. "This - " went on Deke, nodding back toward Kid, "Lucille reckons this is Kid Curry! So it don't take much figurin' to work out this smart mouth is Hannibal Heyes. They're worth $10,000 apiece." He paused for a minute before adding, meaningly, "Dead or alive."

Carleton looked searchingly at the two ex-outlaws.

He wrenched Kate's arm in it's socket again, as he snapped at her, "Is that true?"

"No, of course it's not true! It's – " Kate stopped. An arrested expression swept across her face.

Heyes closed his eyes in involuntary dread, as he saw her quick mind make sense of this revelation. She was by nature unsuspicious, slow to doubt the truthfulness of anyone. But she was far from stupid. Heyes watched, the expertise of Thaddeus Jones with firearms; Joshua Smith's knowledge of safes; 'Meg's' uncanny ability to open a Philadelphia Miller first try; and the – admittedly vague but still suggestive – wanted posters she had used to guide her sketches all week, slot into place in Kate's mind. It took only a couple of seconds.

"No!" said Kate, firmly, "It's nonsense!"

But her loyal lie no longer carried the spontaneity needed to sway Carleton.

Kid felt as if punched in the gut. The glance Kate sent him now, silently tried to convey continuing affection and sisterly support. But, for a fraction of a second, as he too watched the light dawn, he caught a fleeting moment of reproach and deep, deep disappointment. Even if they did not get out of this – he hoped, above everything, he had a chance to tell Kate the partners had gone straight. Were straight. That one of the worst things about life on the run was lying to people you grew to – care about.

Carleton looked at Kid warily.

"Better take no chances," he said. "Drop your gun. Use your left hand – couple of fingers only. Real slow. You – " to Heyes, "you keep your hands up. Neither of you think of trying anything smart. Not if you want this pretty face - " he twitched his barrel to a point under Kate's chin, " – staying in one piece." Kid dropped his gun as instructed. He kicked it toward Carleton. Carleton smiled, "Now you," he said to Heyes, "Then go stand next to your partner."

Soon both guns were at his feet.

"Pick 'em up," he told Deke. Looking at Ellen, he warned, "You make so much as a sound or a move, when he let's you go – I hurt her real bad! And it won't come close to what I'll do to you!"

She whimpered, but nodded understanding.

Levelling his gun at the ex-outlaws, Deke collected their weapons and deposited them on the desk behind Carleton.

"Now you," Carleton glared at Ellen, "Get their hands tied. Remember – Deke's watching real close. Tie them tight. You know what happens when you cross me. Don't even think of trying to trick me." Her eyes widened in fright, she shook her head frantically at the suggestion she would trick him, but seemed frozen to the floor. "MOVE!" he snapped.

Ellen scurried over to stand behind Heyes and Curry. She wrung her hands helplessly.

"What'll I use, Oliver?" she whimpered.

Carleton's eyes flashed with temper, "You are the most useless, whining, waste of space, to ever draw breath! This lying hussy," shaking Kate, "- she's worth ten of you!" He released Kate's wrist and gripped the top of her bodice. With a swift movement, he rent off half the net and gauze, flinging it across the floor. "Use that! She's not going to need it, during what I've got planned for her!"

Again, Heyes saw his partner start a fruitless lunge, only to be checked by Carleton's gun digging deeper into Kate's flesh and the sound of a hammer being cocked. As Kid stepped back, eyes ice cold with fury, the hammer was carefully lowered.

Carleton's hand took hold of the dress lining, "Need more?" he laughed, to a sobbing Ellen.

"Leave her," snapped Heyes, his voice tight with anger. To Ellen he said, "Use the cords – behind you."

Tearful and trembling, she collected thin silk tie-back cords, hanging unused, either side of the heavy velvet curtains, drawn across the windows behind the ex-outlaws. She bound Kid's hands and wrists behind his back, closely watched by Deke, who still covered them.

Heyes heard the gunslinger's brusque instructions, "Lace your fingers together, Curry - tie 'em like that – tighter – I wanna see white! – now the thumbs – now the wrists – tighter, till it digs in – and a loop pullin' down on the thumbs – round the wrist again –" and watched him check the finished job, yanking until Kid winced.

He sighed inwardly. Deke Simon's might be a mean skunk – but give him his due – he knew this part of his job!

With the hands of both partners firmly secured and two tight gags in place. Carleton relaxed just a shade. He released Kate and motioned her and Ellen to stand – well away from both Heyes and Curry and their confiscated guns. Deke joined him in front of the desk.

Carleton's mind raced.

"This is the way I figure it," he began, "We don't want to kill them here – unless we have to. Might be much better if there's some – tragedy – out at West Hill." He frowned in thought, "How's this? Drawn by talk of the richest copper strike ever – Heyes and Curry think they'll rob the Brooker 404 out at the mine offices. Hannibal Heyes - being too smart for his own good – decides they'll empty my personal safe at West Hill as an extra flourish."

Heyes closed his eyes, momentarily, at the irony. It would be the second night running he had cracked that safe!

"My – loving wife – hears a sound. Being – as you've seen – stupid and too inquisitive for her own good - interrupts them. Gets herself killed." Carleton watched Deke Simons react, "You got a problem with that?"

Deke glanced at Ellen Fraser.

"Not as long as you're payin'," he said.

"You wouldn't be feeling - curious - about my reasons?" Carleton asked.

"Couldn't care less – if the price is right?" Deke grinned. "'Course the right price hasta be over an' above the $20,000 on these two."

Carleton nodded agreement, "But I think there's something you'd like even more than money – for the over and above."

"Doubt it!"

"What about being known as the man who outdrew and killed Kid Curry?"

Deke stared, broodingly, at Kid.

Eventually he said, "Still cost ya. But let's say – that'll sure lower my rate for the job!"

Carleton went on, "We head out for West Hill, after meeting for a couple of Saturday night drinks. Ride into a robbery in progress – you wipe out Curry and Heyes. Unfortunately just too late to save –" he jerked his head at Ellen, "– her."

Deke's ruminating gaze shifted to Kate. "What about that one?"

He was answered with a humourless laugh, "Be a terrible waste to shoot her! I can think of much more enjoyable ways of dealing with that one." Carleton's eyes met those of Deke Simons, "And I'm feeling generous – I'll share."

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN Early hours Sunday 17th June 1883 **

Ned Kingsley stood, rather at a loss, in the street outside the Sheriff's office. He had not considered the possibility that reporting the presence of Kid Curry in Butte, would meet with sceptical disinterest.

He knew Miss Spencer expected assistance to arrive, in the event she did not manage to warn her friends in time. At that very moment, Mrs. Connor could be facing unspeakable peril, from a notorious and ill intentioned, gunslinger. Even if she was not facing Kid Curry – Ned recoiled from thinking of her, out after midnight, in the company of those two payroll guards. Especially that dark-eyed, laughing, Joshua Smith.

Ned glowered. Smith had kissed her hand, teased her and had the gall to casually use her Christian name; – he lingered over it in his thoughts – Kate!

Ned made up his mind. He had to discover if his paragon was in danger. He must go to her aid. Passing the post office, an idea struck him. He took his work keys from his pocket and let himself in. Retrieving a much smaller key, from a tin on a high shelf, he unlocked a small drawer beneath the counter. Looking around the dark empty office guiltily, he took the twenty-year old pistol his father kept there for emergencies. Ned tucked it into his belt, concealed by his jacket. Then, he conscientiously locked the door behind him and set off toward the Dumas place.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

The partners exchanged a despondent, though not yet hopeless, glance. Carleton and Simons planned to kill them positioned before the open Philadelphia Miller out at West Hill. The Brooker 404 out at the mine offices was to be found blown and its contents planted with the dead outlaws. Ellen would be shot with Curry's gun.

After tying the hands of the two women, though without the elaborate precautions used on the ex-outlaws, Oliver Carleton took a set of keys from his desk.

" Keep them covered," he instructed, "Williams and that new guy, Pat Galloway, are on guard out front. I'll have them get the delivery wagon taken round back of this wing. They can cover the alley – stop anyone interrupting while we get these four loaded up. We'll get them out to West Hill and everything taken care of, well before dawn."

During this speech, Kid, standing a few inches before the join of the closed velvet curtains, hands firmly tied behind his back, felt something. A small finger had slipped between his bound palms and tugged him insistently backwards. At the same time, there was on his skin the tiniest breath of a draught. The window had been silently opened. Kid maintained his poker face, as the likeliest explanation sprang to his mind.

Meg!

Curry shifted his weight, as if easing his taut shoulders. He settled a couple of inches back, so his hands rested against the velvet. Meg's finger was replaced with a small but - as she had believed so confidently, in the face of his mistaken scepticism – decidedly useful, serrated metal edge.

Kid tried, while remaining still and expressionless, to send an unspoken message – not to wholly cut through the bonds. He should not have underestimated the authoress of a hundred escape scenes.

As Oliver Carleton exited, to brief the men on the outer door and as Deke Simons gloated over his increased worth, once he had shot Curry, Kid felt his fingers and palms ease apart, without the cords falling from his wrists. One firm tug – he would be free. A diminutive hand, slipped between the vents of his jacket and pulled at his waistband. Breathing in, while keeping his face set in scorn at Simons' taunts, Kid felt the muzzle of a trusty British Bulldog slide into the back of his pants, to be hidden by his coat.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Drawing back from the side window of Carleton's apartment, Meg snapped shut and pocketed her soldier's knife. She chewed her bottom lip, considering the next step.

If this were one of her novels – it would be easy. Mary-Sue, assuming she managed not to swoon, would undoubtedly go and find the freight wagon in which the villain meant to transport his captives to a grisly fate. With the stealth of a cat, she would conceal her svelte and lovely form amongst handy sacks in the back. Then, at the most appropriate juncture, she would throw herself into the line of fire to protect her true love – assuming the sappy fool had finally made her mind up who that was! Or, with a strength and speed incredible in one so deceptively fragile, she would wrench a weapon from the villain's distracted hand and hold it to his, now terrified, head.

Although no one liked a flight of fancy more than Meg, years of having to earn her keep, usually the only woman in a crowd of male journalists, had given her a strong practical streak in an emergency. Something told her an establishment the size of the Dumas probably had more than one delivery vehicle. If she picked the right one – she was unlikely to reach it before Carleton's men. If she did – she could not rely on any handy coverings to hide under. In any case, – without assuming the villain's henchmen were exceptionally bright – a body shaped lump, in a supposedly empty wagon, might just warrant a good kick to check it out.

No, Meg decided. The last thing her friends needed was for her to throw the villain another hostage. What they did need – was for help to arrive. Preferably well armed, carrying shotguns, wearing star-shaped badges, briefed in advance – and soon!

She scurried the length of the East wing, along the connecting wall and peeped around the front of the building. Activity was dying down fast as Saturday night turned into the small hours of Sunday morning. Meg screwed up her eyes and peered through the hazy light pouring through dozens of windows into Mercury Street. No sign of the Sheriff, nor his deputies, amongst the few people still abroad. No sign of Ned.

Meg made her decision. She had done all she could here, by freeing and arming 'Thaddeus'. Now it was time - despite all the complications which might ensue – to hurry the arrival of the law. Setting off, at a run, in the direction of the Sheriff's office, she considered just how deep those complications might be, given what she had overheard. As she had listened to Carleton's assumptions about the identities of her two new friends - Meg had gone through much the same realisation as Kate. Their expertise and skills in - security - suddenly took on a whole new significance.

"When this is over," Meg promised herself, "I will be BOILING mad!"

Once Joshua – NO!

She corrected herself – HANNIBAL.

Once he was safe; both from Carleton's murderous intent and from the danger of being locked away for twenty years – she would wring his neck.

His dishonest, lying, insincere, two-faced, hypocritical, untrustworthy, deceptive, mendacious, bogus, dastardly, crooked, phoney, faking, feigning, false, fleeting, perjured …

Meg's internal thesaurus temporarily gave way to the need to watch her footing in the dark.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Rounding the final corner toward the back of the Dumas building, Ned stopped dead. He flattened himself against the wall.

Horses were being quietly hitched to a freight wagon in the quiet passage behind the East wing. The gunslinger, whom Ben McBride and Miss Spencer suspected of being Kid Curry stood guard at the far end of the alley. The man handling the horses kept glancing warily in Ned's direction.

The youth pressed himself more firmly into the shadows cast by a stack of empty whiskey crates. This was not right! What reason could anyone have to travel this late? Why was the preparation so furtive?

Inch by inch, Ned slinked closer.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

As a panting Meg covered the last few hundred yards of her run, she saw Deputies Baker and Daly on the boardwalk outside, in conversation with the Sheriff himself.

"Wha…Yaa… Do… hoo… hrrr?" she gasped. Almost doubling over, clutching a stitch in her side, she tried again. "Weren't… you … tol'… Du…mas... Hry!" she gasped, pawing at Deputy Baker's sleeve.

The Sheriff looked dispassionately at the red-faced, perspiring, heaving figure.

"Are you drunk, son?" he grunted. "Because if you're plannin' on throwin' up - don't do it here! Not unless you wanna get dumped - an' I mean dumped from a great height - into a cell for the night!"

Meg stared up from under her brim, outraged. She forced herself to take two or three slow breaths.

With a final inhalation, she squeaked, "I am NOT drunk!" She straightened, though still leaning on Deputy Baker.

"It is I!" she exclaimed. She tugged off her cap.

In her novels, whenever a heroine "obscured in the lovely garnish of a boy" did this, the freed shimmering, tumbling locks, roused gasps of wonder amongst any watching men.

Unfortunately, her repeated runs on a hot June night, had rendered poor Meg so sweaty under the tweed cap, most of her damp hair remained firmly stuck against her head. A single, rather lank, clump flopped to her shoulder.

The three lawmen were certainly surprised, but there was no sudden start of admiration, nor flurry of excited questions. In fact, as the silence lengthened, Meg realised they were actually expecting the next move to come from her.

"Weren't you asked to check out the Dumas place?" she asked. "Didn't Ned Kingsley tell you that - "

She stopped. She no longer wanted to mention the name 'Kid Curry'. Whatever he may have done in the past, 'Thaddeus' had helped pull one of her two dearest friends in the world from certain death, and had treated her - and Kate - with all the kindness of a brother.

"He said you'd spotted Kid Curry, earlier today, ma-am," grunted Zeb Daly, "But -" He shrugged.

Deputy Baker, more than a little pleased it was his arm Meg had decided to hold onto, as she caught her breath, explained, "You see, ma-am, - you havin' such a - lively imagination - and bein' so - naturally interested in outlaws, what with all your clever writin' an' such - we thought maybe you'd been too likely to think any stranger in town, might be a famous gunslinger." He smiled down at her, "We're just on our way to the Dumas now - but we plan to check out things, nice an' quiet like. Then, if you've made - an honest mistake - it won't matter. No harm done." His eyes lingered on her for a moment, "Pardon me askin', ma-am. But why are you dressed like that?"

"Never mind that! No!" protested Meg, "I mean - yes! I might have been mistaken about Kid Curry! But - you have to get to the Dumas right away! It's Mr. Carleton he's…" she jigged on the spot, "He's got Kate and his wife and Joshua and Thaddeus…behind the East wing." Her voice rose as she gabbled, "He plans to take them out to West Hill and …Deke Simons is there… And that new gunslinger he's just hired… He plans to kill them!" The fingers of one of Meg's hands dug into Deputy Baker's arm. The other reached out, in entreaty, to the Sheriff. With another deep breath, she continued more calmly, "Please believe me!" Her eyes went to Zeb Daly, "I know I get carried away making things up - and I know after yesterday YOU think I'm a fool - but this is REAL. I heard him. Please."

The Sheriff studied her for a moment.

With a jerk of his head, he barked, "Get a coupla shotguns, Zeb! Let's get down there." He turned to Meg, checking his revolver as he spoke, "Tell us, ma-am - far as you know - who's in trouble, an' where they are?"

oooOOOOOOOooo---


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Finishing hitching the horses, Caleb Williams threw back the tarpaulin covering the deep back of the wagon and let down the tailboard. Then he strode over to tap on the back door of the private wing. Over the noise of music and gaiety still drifting from the front and upper floors of the main house, Ned could hear heavy locks turning and bolts being drawn back. The door opened. Light spilled out into the alleyway.

What he saw next, in the shaft of illumination from the doorway, made Ned's heart pound. It was Mrs. Connor! Dressed as he had never seen her before! Her hands were tied behind her back. Next to her, stood another woman, also tied, Ned did not recognise. The second woman was sobbing. Both were thrust out of the doorway, by Oliver Carleton.

"Hold these two," Carleton snapped to Caleb, "Deke'll get – my other guests - loaded in the back." He caught Mrs. Connor by one shoulder and twisted her round to face him. Even at a distance, Ned could see she did not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. "I was kind enough not to gag you. But if either of you starts screaming - I'm going to hurt your friends here real bad! In fact – if you disobey me in any way, Mrs. Connor – they'll wish they'd never been born! " he hissed.

"You'll kill them anyway!" she flashed, chin held high.

"Quickly – or slowly. Your choice. Do you have any idea how long a man can take to bleed to death from a bullet real low through the spine? Or how much a kneecap shot off from behind will pain him – during a long drive?" He met her eyes, "Your choice," he repeated, "Am I making myself clear, Mrs Connor?"

There was a silence.

"I see that I am, but I would like to hear you say it. Am I making myself clear, Mrs Connor?"

"Perfectly clear, Mr. Carleton."

He smiled, "Good."

Caleb Williams grabbed hold of both women. Ned trembled with anger as he saw the man's fingers dig into Mrs. Connors bare arm, saw how closely she was pulled against him.

As Caleb dragged the ladies away from the door, Ned saw Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones, gagged and bound, step out.

"Take them one at a time. Fasten 'em in the back," barked Carleton.

Deke Simons pushed Smith roughly toward the wagon, a gun held to his back. Jones remained by the doorway, covered by the mine owner at his side.

Ned saw that, tied as he was, Smith struggled to lever himself onto the high back of the wagon. Deke Simons twisted the bound man round and slammed him hard against the wooden base. The impact caused the horses to twitch and take a pace or two forward. Unbalanced and clearly hurt from the blow, Smith stumbled. The hand holding the gun smashed the butt across his temple and he fell.

"Reckon I owed you that one," gloated Deke Simons, "Reckon I owe you this too!" His foot drew back to deliver a vicious kick.

"Stop!" exploded Mrs. Connor. She twisted, fruitlessly, in her captor's grasp, "What kind of – man - are you? He is bound - helpless!" Her eyes flashed, "Coward!"

The gunslinger paused. He turned on his heel and strode over.

Clutching her throat in a cruel grip, he glowered, "I'd worry 'bout myself if I were you! Before this night is out, you're gonna find out exactly what kinda man I am!"

His hand dropped from her throat and slid down to her torn bodice. Caleb Williams snickered.

It was too much for Ned. Clutching the old pistol in both hands, he stepped out from the shadowed alcove.

"T-Take your hands off her!" he stammered. The barrel of the gun wavered, uncertainly, towards Deke Simons.

oooOOOOOOOooo---

The three lawmen, followed by Meg, scampering to match their long strides, approached the front of the Dumas building.

"Zeb," said the Sheriff decisively, "Inside! Find a room upstairs where you can cover the alley back o' the East wing. Get in position - don't alert 'em you're there. Wait for me an' Baker to move." As Daly strode up the steps to the main entrance, the Sheriff continued to Deputy Baker, "The lady says, if we take the back streets - loop round that way -" he nodded to the right, "- head in near where they're loadin' up this wagon - we hit Deke Simons, Carleton, an' another of his men. All armed."

He met Baker's eyes. Deputy Baker screwed up his mouth and shrugged.

"No," said the Sheriff, "I don't much like the odds either." He drew breath, "If'n we take this alley -" he nodded left, "- turn in the more direct route round back of the East wing - we meet this new gunslinger we keep hearing 'bout, standin' guard. Even if he ain't Kid Curry, hafta assume he knows his job. AND since he's mebbe a good 50 or 60 yards from the others - we go in that way - it gives 'em plenty of time to get a pistol to a woman's head 'fore we're in range."

"We'll have Zeb coverin' 'em from above," said Baker.

The Sheriff sniffed. He looked at Meg, who was clenching her fists hard to keep from screaming in impatience.

"You definitely heard they weren't planning to hurt no one 'till they got back to West Hill?" he checked.

"That's what they said," she hopped from foot to foot, anxiously, "But anything could be happening!"

"Bound to drive out this way," decided the Sheriff, nodding again to the alley curving darkly away on the left. Other way's too narrow, "It might be better to edge up, so this new gun don't see us - let 'em finish loadin' - wait for 'em to move. Get the drop on 'em as they approach the turn! They'll still be in range for Zeb."

Deputy Baker shrugged again.

"Your call," he said.

They moved off.

The Sheriff wheeled.

"You ain't to follow us no further!" he barked at Meg, "You're to go on home! Do you hear me, ma-am?"

The small, trotting figure, halted. Heyes would not have trusted the bland, wide-eyed innocent face with which she greeted the Sheriff's order for a moment.

Deputy Baker gave her a reassuring smile.

"Don't you worry 'bout nuthin', ma-am. Gonna work out just fine. You'll see."

oooOOOOOOOooo---

Deke Simons spun round, releasing Kate and stared in surprise at the adolescent boy waving an antiquated pistol in his direction. A gloating smile spread over his face. Signalling Pat Galloway, at the far end of the alley, to stay where he was, the gunslinger moved to a position directly facing Ned Kingsley, his left hand hovering by his holster.

Kate, horrified at this development, called out, "Ned! No! Please put that away. Please!" To Simons' impassive back, she pleaded, "He's just a boy! He has nothing to do with any of this! Please don't hurt him."

Carleton stepped forward, impatiently, leaving the - as he believed, securely tied - Curry an arms length behind in the doorway.

"We don't have time for this, Deke!" he snapped.

Deke Simons did not turn at his employer's voice, but replied evenly, "I never walk away. Never." He watched the nervous youngster facing him in the dim light, around thirty-five feet away.

Heyes, head pounding, had pulled himself out of the dirt and was struggling back to his feet. He exchanged a mute conversation with his partner. Both knew, at that distance, with that old pistol, even if he managed to pluck up nerve to pull the trigger, Ned had no chance. If Simons reached, the boy would be gunned down for sure.

From his position, much closer to Ned than Heyes, Kid also realised Ned had not even cocked his gun. From Deke Simons' next words, it became clear he too knew he faced no real, immediate danger.

"She -" Simon's head jerked back in Kate's direction without taking his eyes off his opponent, "- she says you're just a boy. Is that right? You just a boy? Gonna throw down that gun an' say - 'Sorry, sir. You put your hands wherever you like, sir.'?"

"Do as he asks, please Ned!" urged Kate.

Glancing indecisively at Kate, Ned lowered his barrel a fraction.

The gunslinger's grin widened.

"That's right! See - she don't want me to stop. Let me hear you say - 'Sorry sir. That w---- , she was askin' for it, sir!'."

Ned jerked the pistol level again.

"D-don't you dare call her that!"

Simon's hand moved a fraction closer to the butt of his own gun.

"If you're planning on usin' that, boy, you might wanna cock it first,"

Ned's eyes moved from his opponent to his own weapon. The pistol wavered and lowered, as he released one of his clutching hands and rather uncertainly moved it to carry out the gunslinger's taunting instruction.

Deke Simons reached.

A reverberating, echoing, shot rang out.

Simons' gun flew from his grasp and scudded across the alleyway. With a howl of agony, he stared in disbelief at the shattered mess that had once been his left hand.

Only Heyes was both deductive and quick enough, to glance into the doorway and see his partner's freed hand emerge from his jacket, after depositing a short-barrelled, double-action revolver made - by fine Birmingham craftsmen - in a handy pocket size.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Deke Simon's disbelief in no way exceeded that of a stunned Ned Kingsley. Jarred by the recoil from his pistol, he stared, astounded, from its smoking barrel to the injured man, still gasping in pain.

Seeing Simons was truly going to draw on him, he had flinched, squeezed shut his eyes and almost involuntarily tightened his finger on the trigger.

Oliver Carleton, after a moment of incredulity, exploded in fury. Glowering at the open mouthed young boy, weapon now dangling loosely by his side, he levelled his own gun, purposefully.

"You stupid, interfering …"

His hand smashed back against the wall, the wrist hitting the edge of the door frame with a force that shook pain through his entire body. Carleton's released gun was scooped up by Kid, so swiftly, it seemed a single smooth movement. Kid stepped forward, roughly shoving Carleton aside, then dragged the gag from his mouth with his free hand.

Levelling his purloined weapon at Caleb Williams, he snapped, "Let 'em go!"

Wide-eyed in fear, Caleb complied, then kept his hands high.

Kid turned squarely, to face Pat Galloway. He was still out of range, but running forward, full of confusion as to what had happened. Unseen by the young gunslinger, wholly diverted by the sudden shot, two figures - also drawn by the sound of gunfire - had rounded the turn behind him, into the far end of the alley.

Suddenly a voice rang out from above their heads.

"Hold it there, son. Gotta shotgun pointed right at ya! Don't wanna hafta use it!"

Galloway halted and scanned the upper windows of the building. Kid looked up too. Zeb Daly, promised shotgun in his hands, was positioned almost directly opposite the now abandoned wagon. With unmingled relief Kid saw the weapon was trained firmly on Pat Galloway, who now threw down his gun and kicked it away. With more mixed feelings, he saw that the two figures fast approaching behind Galloway were now recognisable as the Sheriff and Deputy Baker.

"Ned," called Kid, turning to cover the still armed, though seemingly thoroughly cowed, Caleb Williams. "Come untie him." He nodded at Heyes, then walked over to confiscate Caleb's gun. .

As Ned, rather shakily, freed the gag around Heyes mouth, the ex-outlaw informed him quietly, "You'll find a knife in my boot - cut the cords."

By now, the two lawmen had arrived on the scene.

Deputy Baker motioned Williams and Galloway together, by the wall and covered them. Heyes, after rubbing his bruised wrists, began to free Ellen's hands. With a small, wry smile, he motioned Ned to do the same for Kate. The smile widened a fraction, as he noticed a short, familiar, capped figure slinking up toward them from the direction of the narrow back alleys, the same way as young Ned had come.

The Sheriff ruminatively surveyed the scene, looking from darting-eyed, furious Oliver Carleton, to injured Deke Simons, to the women, to still trembling Ned Kingsley.

He tilted back his head and called up to his man overlooking the alley.

"Zeb - you see what happened here?"

"Not all of it - but was in time to see the shot," his deputy answered, "From here - looked, more or less like the boy, was lowerin' his gun, when Simons drew. If I hafta make a call - I'd say it was fair self-defence - let alone any other provocation." There was a pause. Deputy Daly added, admiringly, "That was some shot, son! Can hardly believe it."

"Neither can I," breathed the Sheriff under his breath. He raised his voice, "An' you folks - anyone care to tell me what's happenin'?"

Oliver Carleton, opened his mouth, but was silenced by a sharp barking command, "NOT you!" The Sheriff turned to Kate and in a much gentler voice, invited, "Mrs. Connor, ma-am?"

As soon as she was freed, Kate had run to help Deke Simons. Setting an upturned crate for him to sit upon and tearing strips from her petticoat, she had finished a makeshift bandage. Now she was pinning his jacket to hold the injured hand and issuing low voiced, instructions to "Keep it raised."

Hearing her name, she turned.

"This man needs a Doctor, Sheriff."

He gave a tiny nod, "I'll see he gets one, ma-am. But first I'd like to know what happened."

Kate pushed back a stray curl and took a breath.

"It all happened so fast," she began, "-it's hard to be exact." She met the Sheriff's eye squarely, "But I would agree, absolutely, with Deputy Daly - I truly believe Ned would have lowered his gun and never fired, if he hadn't seen Mr. Simons about to shoot."

"That's kinda half a tale, ma-am," he replied, "What started it?" He looked at the rent in her clothing, then averted his gaze. Gesturing at the tear, whilst keeping his eyes on her face, he asked, "Did Simons - threaten you - some way?"

Kate, glanced down. Newly discomfited, she flushed and tried to tuck the ripped material back into place.

"Well…" she hesitated.

"Yes," said Heyes, firmly.

The Sheriff looked at him and nodded to indicate he accepted the truth of this.

"Reckon I'd say he had it comin' then ma-am!" he decided.

Seeing Kate still holding the top of her bodice in place, Kid had stepped toward her and made a move to take off his coat. Then, remembering the pocketed gun, he hesitated. Ned Kingsley saw the beginning of the gesture and darted to Kate's side, tangling his arms in his haste to strip off his own jacket.

"W-would you like this, ma-am," he said, holding it out.

He was rewarded with an eager, grateful nod. She waited while he pulled the sleeves back the right way out, then rather than take it from his outstretched hand, turned so he could hold it up and help her. As his hands went over her shoulders and released the collar into her grasp, she glanced back at him.

"Thank you, Mr. Kingsley," she smiled, "- and not just for the jacket."

Scarlet, he shuffled his feet.

"Was nuthin'" he grunted.

The Sheriff watched Ned, with unmixed fatherly approval, Then, he again scanned the company.

"So - before young Ned made this amazin' shot - what was goin' on?"

The partners exchanged a glance.

At a tiny nod from Heyes, Kid moved back toward Ellen Fraser and began, "This lady," he indicated her, "- she has something to …"

Oliver Carleton took one pace nearer, a calculating look beginning to creep over his face.

"Sheriff," he exclaimed loudly, "Do not listen to this man! In fact I demand you arrest him at once." He advanced another pace, "He is a known criminal - this is Kid Curry!"

A beat.

The Sheriff's eyes moved from one man to the other. Heyes believed he could guess at the mental process going on. 'Never really was convinced by plain - 'Smith 'n' Jones'! An' do know he's real fast. But - wouldn't believe grass was green on that skunk's say so!'

"THAT ain't Kid Curry!" exploded Ned Kingsley. He pointed, firmly, at young Pat Galloway, still standing, covered by Deputy Baker. "THAT - that's the one I was told to tell ya was Kid Curry!"

This was a fresh twist for the real Kid Curry. He blinked and risked a quick glance at his partner.

A diminutive, but supremely confident, addition to the cast stepped out from behind the stacked crates.

"YES!" it declared ringingly, "THAT," also pointing at an astounded Pat Galloway, "- is Kid Curry." She dropped the dramatic tones. "Isn't it, Deputy Baker?" she asked with an appealing smile.

Deputy Baker hesitated.

"This is certainly the man you had Ned describe to us, earlier, ma-am," he said carefully.

"I ain't Kid Curry!" exploded Galloway.

"Well - obviously he's going to deny it!" exclaimed Meg, reasonably, "But look at him - he matches the description! He's blonde, he's tall, he's young-looking - and he's hiring out as a gunslinger!" She drew breath, "I mean, Thaddeus isn't even really fair-haired - he's more - mousy. And - no offence Thaddeus - he's a bit on the heavy side!" Again, she switched on a charming smile and peeped up from under the brim of her cap, "Isn't that right, Deputy Baker?"

"Well, ma-am, you're the one been studyin' the wanted posters. Daresay you know better'n me," he ventured.

"I AIN'T Kid Curry!" repeated Galloway, desperately.

"You'll just have to hold him, until someone from Wyoming comes to confirm it, won't you?" persisted Meg.

Carleton moved an inch or two closer to Ellen.

"This is ridiculous, Sheriff!" he said, "Can't you see, she's trying to draw attention away from the fact that Thaddeus Jones and Kid Curry are one and the same!"

"Oh Yes!" intoned Meg, in a voice heavy with sarcasm, "Of course they are! Notorious outlaws, like Kid Curry, are always being hired to escort payrolls of $80,000 and not stealing a nickel! And violent criminals, are often found, risking their own lives, to pull people out of burning buildings, with no hope of reward. And rather than actually offer to work for you, - Kid Curry would be bound to forego the money and expose you, - purely in the interests of justice." She stared, wide-eyed at the Sheriff and shook her head, "Makes perfect sense doesn't it? It's not as if Mr. Carleton might be the one trying to divert your attention! Oh No!"

The Sheriff stared at Oliver Carleton, as he deliberated over what Meg had said.

Seeing she was making headway, Meg launched again into the fray.

With a tiny - and definitely rancorous glance - at Heyes, she stepped toward him and went on.

"I suppose if Thaddeus is Kid Curry, you think THIS - this is Hannibal Heyes?" She gave a scornful laugh.

"It is!" exclaimed Carleton, a little thrown by this tactic.

"Hannibal Heyes! Hannibal Heyes!" sneered Meg, "- And he gets himself trussed up like a turkey and has to be cut free, by a fifteen year old boy, after the danger had passed! I thought he was supposed to be master of clever escapes! And if he was Hannibal Heyes - wouldn't he be talking his way out of this! Not just standing there! Useless! Like a spare part! Gaping like a cod fish!"

Heyes eyes began to take on a purposeful glitter. She glowered back at him.

Kate decided to earn her keep as Meg's backup.

"I seem to remember, from the background material, ONE description of Hannibal Heyes mentioned a scar - two inches long - under the chin. Very noticeable. And a gold tooth."

"And a squint," declared Meg, "Makes him look shifty."

The Sheriff blinked.

"Thought he was supposed to have charm?"

"CHARM!" sniffed Meg, "Pfffttt! You must have been reading Dime Novels! Kate and I have researched the REAL man - furtive, rodenty fellow! Puts people in mind of a rat!" She cast Heyes another glance, under her breath she added, "A lying rat!" Her eyes challenged him, "Isn't that so, Joshua?"

However, he had realised Meg's performance, impressive as it was, before her final swerve into abuse, never caught the attention of at least one member of her audience.

Oliver Carleton's gaze constantly flicked in the direction of Ellen Fraser. As the Sheriff listened, partially swayed, to Meg – Carleton continued to edge inch by inch toward Ellen. His face wore a beseeching smile, belied by a cunning gleam in the eyes. She, when he caught her notice, displayed the same involuntary fascination with which a rabbit responds to a snake.

With another covert step, Carleton, drew closer. He half held out his hand, as if in a pleading, gesture. Heyes saw a slight distortion in the set of the sleeve, – familiar from years facing professional gamblers, - as the arm raised and twitched.

Both men sprang in an instant; Carleton toward the flinching Ellen, Heyes to strike up, then grab his hand.

A second gunshot echoed through the alleyway. Then Carleton snarled in fury as his arm was cruelly twisted behind his back. The object in his grasp clattered to the floor. Still gripping Carleton, Heyes swept it up and displayed it to the Sheriff.

"Derringer," he stated, adding bluntly, "Reckon he meant to try and get away using a hostage."

Something dark trickled down Heyes face.

"Joshua," squealed Meg, "– you are hit!"

She scampered over. Kid, equally – thought not as noisily – concerned, beat her to it.

"Nothin' but a graze," dismissed Heyes, twitching away from his partner's hand, but not for a moment relaxing his grip on Carleton.

Meg hopped in anxiety at Kid's side, as he checked the wound.

"You're right," said Kid, his gruff tone, covering his relief. He bent down and picked up his partner's hat, "Won't even be a scar!"

A fluttering breath escaped from Meg. Then snapping her brows together, she once again glowered at Heyes.

"Pity!"

He blinked. Without exactly expecting to receive a 'My Hero!' – those ten seconds back in her good books did seem at little on the short side.

The Sheriff turned to the trembling Ellen Fraser. Noting her bruises, he cast a contemptuous look at the thwarted man in Heyes grasp.

"Did you have something you wanted to tell me, Mrs. Carleton?" he asked.

She nodded. In a small voice, she began, "That's not who I am – ".

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

Less than an hour later, back in his office, the Sheriff surveyed the group before him.

Carleton and his men were in the cells. Carleton still – at intervals – loudly insisting on the immediate arrest of Heyes and Curry. The Doctor had left, after tending to Simons' shattered hand. Despite protests from Heyes, firmly vetoed by Meg, he had also painfully cleaned up Heyes scratch with antiseptic. Doctor Bell insisted on taking Ellen – who had begun to shake with delayed shock – back to the surgery with him. She had the Sheriff's assurance her baby, left in the care of the maids at West Hill, would be brought to her at first light.

The Sheriff looked from one face to the next. He paused at Ned Kingsley.

"You son," he barked. "Go home!" Ned opened his mouth to protest. "Now!" insisted the Sheriff, adding more mildly, "If your Pa wants to talk to me – tell him I'll call round tomorrow."

Kate stood up, "May I call tomorrow too?" she asked, "To return your jacket."

Gulping, he nodded.

"Please, NEVER do anything like that again!" she smiled, "But, oh Ned, you are a hero!" Leaning forward, she kissed him gently on the cheek, "Thank you."

As the scarlet-faced youth somehow found his hat, the door, the handle and the step into the street, Heyes caught his partner's eye and gave him a quizzical look.

"It WAS some shot, wasn't it, Thaddeus?" he smiled.

"Now," said the Sheriff, gazing thoughtfully at the two ex-outlaws, "You two!"

"You cannot possibly be taking Mr. Carleton's accusations seriously?" protested Kate.

"Must agree, ma-am, can't say I like where the information's comin' from."

"Quite!" declared Kate, "We KNOW he's a liar. As Meg pointed out – if Joshua and Thaddeus were outlaws – why not steal the payroll last week? Nothing could have been easier for them."

"That is true," mused the Sheriff, still scanning the two poker faces in front of him, "Come to think of it – ain't heard of Heyes an' Curry pullin' a job for –" he pursed his lips, "– for more'n two years!"

"I expect they're down in Mexico! That's why there's been no news of them," exclaimed Meg, confidently, "Or even – Bolivia! Isn't that where outlaws go when they're running from the law?"

The Sheriff shrugged, eyes still on the partners.

"Sometimes happens, ma-am," he acknowledged. He stared hard at Heyes, "Might be another explanation."

A beat.

Heyes, eyes innocent, finally managed, "Uh huh?"

The Sheriff shifted in his seat.

"'Fore I came here, I was in Wyoming. Sheriff down in Powell – Park County. Knew a fella called – Billy Brewster. You boys ever hear of him?"

Heyes was about to shake his head, then stopped. He creased his brow as he tried to remember where he had heard the name before.

The Sheriff smiled.

"Rings a bell, huh? The governor granted this Billy Brewster amnesty – after he managed to keep outta trouble for a year or two. I was just wonderin' – mebbe Heyes an' Curry have a similar kinda deal. Mebbe they're tryin' to play it straight? Whaddya think?"

A beat.

Heyes crossed his legs and raised his eyebrows as if considering it.

"Anything's possible."

Kid risked a sideways glance at Kate. The look he received back was so expressive of glowing approval, he dropped his eyes, hoping the warmth in his cheeks was not too obvious.

"Hmm," said the Sheriff. Walking over to his desk he grunted, "Well - Monday'll do fine to look into that. Ain't plannin' to waste a day o' rest on it! NOT that I ever get a day o' rest to waste anyhow."

The partners exchanged a mute conversation. The Sheriff was well aware they were leaving soon after dawn on Monday, escorting a shipment to Duluth.

"Mrs. Connor," called the Sheriff, shuffling a document or two, "- can I just settle one or two final details with you?"

Kate joined him, at the desk.

In a low voice Meg said, "It's hard to believe they've gone straight! Well – not so much Kid Curry. But Hannibal Heyes! Never!"

Deputy Baker overheard this.

"Why him in particular, ma-am?"

She opened her eyes very wide.

"Have you never heard the rumours about him? His moral sense was blunted, years ago, by an addiction to opium. And he drinks – like a fish. And –"

Heyes stood up.

"Why don't we wait for Kate outside, ma-am? Get you a breath of fresh air."

Ignoring her squeak of protest, he gripped her arm and dragged her out onto the boardwalk. Releasing her, he placed his hands on his hips, pushed back his hat and glared down at the fuming figure in front of him.

"Meg," he declared, "- assumin' it was you cut Thaddeus free and slipped him a gun – you have been – amazing! And the way you talked up a storm, for the Sheriff – back in the alley – superb. NOT that I'd expect anything less! But do you think you can stop elaboratin' on the Heyes detail now? Haven't you heard – when it comes to description – less is more? What else are you planning for him? A wart? A hump? A peg-leg?"

"NO!" she scowled, "That would conflict too obviously with the posters. I thought – halitosis!" Her eyes narrowed, musingly, "AND – a report that he's inadequate!"

"Why? Has he spent time with you? Looking like a boiled lobster, sweatin' like a navvy – and dressed like a scarecrow, in those stupid breeches! That'd be enough to make any man inadequate! Sure works for me!"

For a second she looked furious.

Then, "Rubbish!" She held up her chin and stared at him defiantly, "Deputy Baker thinks I look cute as a button dressed like this! And I agree!"

He glared back. His face became suddenly serious.

"So do I!" The deep brown eyes searched hers, "What have I done, Meg? Why are you so angry?"

"Because – because –" she clenched her fists, determined not to let him see she was hurt, as well as enraged, "- because it was all a lie! The very first words you said to me, on the train – were a lie!"

"Meg," he said quietly, "– if worse comes to worst and you get dragged into court, asked – 'Who did you believe this man to be?' – what can you say?"

She stared at him for a moment, then understood.

"I can say, 'He always told me, his name was Joshua Smith.'" she answered, quietly, "And I cannot be accused of knowingly allowing a criminal to escape arrest."

Heyes smiled. His Meg was never slow on the uptake. He took her hand.

"Last night in the woods," he looked down at her, "- I told you I couldn't stay. I said I wasn't near good enough for you."

"You were right!" she shot back. Her face softened a little. "Yes, you did," she acknowledged. Her expression wavered. "But that's not it!" she exploded, snatching her hand away, "I thought – I was special. I thought – if only you had a steady job – you would stay." Her face twisted, "Alright - that wasn't your fault. That was just me being so – STUPID. But you let me carry on – working on my book. You encouraged me to let you hear it!" Her voice wobbled, as she asked, "Have you enjoyed it – laughing at me? Making fun? Good joke was it?"

She turned away.

"I'm going back in," she said dully, "Don't worry, I won't say another word about Heyes or Curry."

He caught her wrist and pulled her back to him.

"Listen you," he said gruffly, "– don't think for a moment I fell for any of that! You know perfectly well – you ARE special. Don't you?"

Nose buried in his shirtfront, she shrugged.

"Don't you?" he repeated.

A nod.

"As for enjoying laughing at you. I thought I was laughing with you. And yes – I enjoyed that. I love – I love laughing with you. Do you really think I'd be leaving tomorrow, if I had a choice?"

A shrug.

"For someone knowing such a lot of big words – you've gone awful quiet."

A beat.

"Are you gonna make me talk to the top of that stupid cap all night?"

Silence.

"C'mon, Meg," he said, "It's sounds like being back in school, but can't we be friends again. Before we have to go back in."

After a moment, he felt the small hands pressed flat against his chest, slip round to hug him close. She tilted up her chin to give him a shaky little smile.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Shortly after dawn - Monday 18th June 1883**

In the misty early morning light, Heyes leant against the ticket depot. He watched the last of 400 tons of copper to be transported to Helena, then East, being loaded, onto the freight cars of the waiting train. His partner was repeating the routine gone through with the payroll car; testing the couplings, checking the firing angles, practising levering himself from the windows - 'just in case'.

A few heads amongst the working labourers turned. Heyes looked round to see what had caught their attention. It was Meg and Kate, obviously here to wave the partners off. Heyes face lit up with a wide, dimpled grin. He walked over to meet them. Kate kissed him on the cheek; from Meg he merely got a rather sheepish smile.

Kid spotted them too and also grinned. Jumping gracefully down, he strode over. He swept his hat off, as he reached the ladies.

"Mornin' Meg," he said, "Kate. Didn't expect you to make it this early."

"We couldn't possibly let you leave without saying goodbye," Kate answered, smiling, "Though I must admit, that's not EXACTLY what I said when Meg shook me awake at five! It's all right for her," she added, glancing at her friend, "she never seems to need sleep!"

Kid smiled back, with a sideways glance at Heyes.

"That can be annoyin' - I know."

"Meg," said Heyes, conversationally, "there's a bank round back of the depot, smothered in bitterroot. Real pretty. Walk round with me - I'll show you."

She blinked at him.

"Why would you want to waste the last ten minutes before you leave looking at flowers." Seeing Kid roll his eyes and Kate hide a smile, the light dawned.

"OH!" she exclaimed, "Did you think if we were alone, you could kiss me goodbye?"

Several heads turned.

"A little louder - just for the fellas at the far end, stockin' the tender," suggested Heyes.

Meg lowered her voice - a shade - but carried on without a pause, a teasing smile beginning to play around her mouth.

"As we'll never see each other again, you were going to catch me in your strong grasp, rain kisses over my face, finally pressing your lips to mine, in a farewell which leaves my senses stunned, my pulse racing? A soaring moment of heady tenderness, I will treasure in my heart forever?"

"No pressure, Josh." said Kid, deadpan, "Sure the peck on the cheek you had in mind'll do fine!"

A beat.

Heyes squinted off towards the direction of the rising sun.

"You comin' or not?" he asked, without looking at her.

Suddenly shy, in a small voice, she said, "Alright."

He began to move away. Realising she was still standing stock-still, he turned. She stared at him, outraged.

"You don't, for one minute, think I'm going to just FOLLOW you?" she exploded, "THAT's not romantic at all. The very LEAST you could do is sweep me off my feet! Bear me away, helpless, in your sinewy arms!"

Hands on hips, Heyes looked at her. Pushing back his hat, he let his head fall forward and slowly shook it, grinning in spite of himself. Straightening up, he strode purposefully over. Meg turned a little to her right, raised her arms slightly, ready to throw them around his neck as she was swept up and closed her eyes in anticipation.

Halting in front of her, Heyes glanced at his partner. Then, he grasped Meg firmly by the waist and tossed her high over one shoulder, like a sack of meal. Gripping her backside there with one hand, his other kept a firm hold of her legs to stop her kicking against his chest and stomach, as he marched away.

The last thing heard, before the couple disappeared from view, was a red-faced Meg, fuming, "Set me down! NOW! Just you wait, Joshua! So help me - I'll show you! I will be BOILING mad!"

Kate and Kid exchanged a glance.

"He won't - lay a finger on her," said Kid. Realising in view of what they had just witnessed, this was blatantly untrue, he grinned, "Well - you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," she smiled back. After a pause, she went on, "Thaddeus."

"Uh huh?"

"I didn't realise until I talked it over with Meg, afterwards. I have even more to thank you for than I knew, don't I? It was you who made the shot to disable Mr. Simons? With the gun Meg gave you?"

Kid hunched a shoulder, awkwardly.

"It was nothin'" he shrugged. "The real thanks oughta go to Meg, for slippin' me a weapon."

"And the pair of you let dear Ned have all the credit!" smiled Kate.

"He deserved it! The way he tried to stand up for you!" said Kid, "I'm not sayin' it wasn't a stupid thing to do. But showed he's made of the right stuff." He shrugged again, "Besides," he met her eyes rather ruefully, "- I don't exactly try to draw attention to it when I've made a fancy shot!" He lowered his gaze, "Just do what you can to make sure the boy doesn't start thinking being good with a gun is something to be real proud of. It's not. I was around his age when -" He stopped. "Kate," he began again, uncomfortably, "I want you to know - ." He stopped again.

Kate gave his hand a kindly squeeze.

"I think I already know. You suspect the rumour about Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry going straight is true," she smiled at him. "I do believe you may be right, Thaddeus! Perhaps Meg's book is more accurate than we thought - they have renounced sin for ever!"

"I dunno about that!" He gave a wry grin, "Probably just knew safes were getting better, sheriffs were getting smarter. Knew it was only a matter of time before they got caught - maybe killed."

"Well," mused Kate, "That could be part of it. But they have a reputation for never shooting anyone during a robbery. I like to think they realised - if they wanted to keep it that way, they needed to stop."

Kid blinked at her. He and Heyes had never put it into words - but there was a lot of truth there.

"AND," went on Kate, "- they are supposed to be VERY loyal friends. Rather like you and Joshua. I have a sneaking suspicion Kid Curry worries even more about Heyes getting caught, or killed, than about his own safety. And vice versa. So -" she looked, enquiringly, up at him, "- that would make even the self-preservation motive a little more noble than you implied. Wouldn't it?"

Kid opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. After a pause, he said, more lightly, "Well, Kate. If you can find something nice to say 'bout them two ornery critters, I suppose there's hope for 'em yet!"

She smiled back.

They stood in silence, watching the final loads being hefted onto the cars.

"When do you expect to have to sell up an' move?" asked Kid.

She looked up at him surprised.

"Haven't you heard?" she asked, "Didn't Mr. Lloyd tell you?"

"Tell us what?" replied Kid, moving his eyes down the platform, to where Chris Lloyd was checking documentation with one of the bookkeepers.

"Well," said Kate, taking a deep breath, "- the Sheriff told Mr. Lloyd that, in his opinion, despite all the fancy talk flyin' around, SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, owed SOMEONE - $20,000. And since Mr. Lloyd was five times richer than he had been yesterday - it really should be him."

"An' he agreed?" asked Kid, incredulously.

"Well - with provisos. He called round yesterday evening and asked what Emerson, Meg and I would do with $20,000 if it was offered. Emerson went first, he asked for..."

"A printing press!" smiled Kid.

She smiled back, "No! I thought you knew him better than that! For a start, that's only three words! He asked for the money to be spent on," she screwed up her eyes to remember accurately, "The introduction of any and all well-defined and established appliances for the preservation of life, health and limbs of all mine employees. The most perfect system of ventilation and drainage available, to have the shafts and tunnels rendered as free from water and impure air and poisonous gases, as possible. A plentiful supply of suitable timber, for supporting the roof and walls. Establishing, as speedily as possible and forever, the right to receive pay, for labour performed, in lawful money and to rid miners from the iniquitous system of spending their wages wherever their employers see fit to designate."

She opened her eyes.

"Uh huh?" grinned Kid, "Not exactly into what you'd call - selfish fritterin' - is he?"

Kate smiled.

She went on, "Mr. Lloyd just interrupted him and said he was pretty much planning on all that anyway. So - was there anything else? Emerson then asked for a maximum working day of eight hours. Mr. Lloyd told him it was a shame the crack on the head hadn't knocked any sense into him and said he hoped we ladies had something more practical to request."

"And did you?" prompted Kid.

"I asked for a printing press," she confirmed, "Being selfish. And for the office to be rebuilt and restocked. Meg is having the very latest Remington typewriter and a de-luxe soldier's knife. We thought Ned might like one of those too." A rather innocent expression came over Kate's face, "I also remember something about a dozen cases of vintage champagne."

"Still wouldn't take $20,000!"

"I did suggest you and Joshua deserved a reward - but Mr. Lloyd said he was paying you well enough already and that the Sheriff might explode if he heard!" She looked up at Kid apologetically, "I think he plans to have a bonus paid you, at the end of the delivery, though."

Kid shrugged, "Better'n nothing. A LOT better than what we usually end up with!"

"I'm sure you'll be more than happy with what the rest is to be used for," smiled Kate.

"Uh huh?"

"First of all - to retain an excellent lawyer to represent Ellen. Because she will have to face trial as an accessory."

Kid looked concerned, "She's not gonna be held in jail till then?"

"No. The Sheriff is prepared to release her - theoretically into my jurisdiction - until the case comes to court. She and the baby will stay with us." Kate grinned, "I signed a document which I think made me some kind of deputy."

"Can't have!" said Kid firmly. "I can look at you without getting cold shivers!"

Kate laughed at this.

"We think she will escape a custodial sentence - but if worse comes to worst - Emerson and I will take good care of little Oliver until she's freed. Then she'll go and start a new life, somewhere back East. We've asked Mr. Lloyd to put the balance of the money in two trust funds, one for her, one for the baby. He was fine with that."

She looked up at Kid.

A beat.

"What are you staring at? Have I got a smut on my face or something?"

He shifted his eyes, "No, it's just - nothing." He glanced at her, "That's real nice to know, Kate. You're right. Me an' Joshua will be more'n happy with that."

The train whistle blew. Doors were slammed and the labourers moved away from the edge of the track.

"Time to go," said Kid.

She put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

"Goodbye. Thank you for everything. I know you probably WON'T ever come back - but if things work out so you can, remember where we are."

"Gonna remember anyhow," he responded, gruffly.

She looked round, "Do you think you need to hurry Joshua?"

"Nope!" stated Kid bluntly, "Never misses a train." He grinned, "'Course sometimes they're movin' before he gets on!"

He walked over and climbed into the last car, Kate following him to the edge of the makeshift platform.

At the far end of the train, Chris Lloyd was scowling past Kid, looking for his missing guard.

With a squeal of releasing brakes and clouds of steam, the train began to inch forward. Gradually, it picked up speed. Kate anxiously scanned the meadow beyond the station for a sign of her absent friend and Heyes.

Two swift running figures, rounded the corner of the depot, hand in hand. Releasing Meg, Heyes chased the accelerating train and with the help of a much practicised grip from his partner, leapt - to be pulled safely aboard. The door of the car banged shut behind him.

The two girls waved at the train until it steamed around a bend out of view.

Kate turned to the still breathless Meg.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well what?"

"Did he…stun your senses? Give you a moment to treasure forever?"

Slowly, a wide, satisfied smirk spread over Meg's face.

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

EPILOGUE Two months later August 1883, Colorado

Kid Curry, hot, tired and hungry after a long ten hours in the saddle, pushed open the hotel room door and strode in. He and Heyes had split up several days ago to take separate jobs, arranging to meet here in Northglenn. The desk clerk informed him that Mr. Smith had checked in that morning and - to the best of his knowledge - was in.

Heyes was indeed in; stretched out on one of the beds, looking annoyingly cool and well rested. One arm was tucked behind his head, a folded back cheap novel was held aloft in the other. He did not look up as his partner entered.

Kid dumped his saddlebags noisily on the dresser.

"I made it," he grunted.

"Uh huh."

"Have you checked out the town?"

"Uh huh."

"No one we know?"

Heyes shook his head without peeling his eyes from the page.

Kid scowled at him. Since his partner wasn't looking - it was wasted.

"You gonna ask me how I got on?" he said.

A shrug, still not looking at Kid, "Mmm?"

"Heyes! You're not layin' there with your nose in that all night. Soon as I've had me a bath, I plan on finding us two steak dinners, a coupla cold beers and a little friendly poker," Kid exploded.

Without reacting, his partner calmly turned a page.

A beat.

Kid threw himself into a chair and glowered at the figure on the bed, "What is it you're reading anyhow?"

Sighing at the interruption, Heyes flicked back to the lurid cover page and held it up to let his partner see for himself.

"Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry in 'The Golden Tunnels of Peril'," Kid recited, "- a thrilling romance by 'Mountain Rose - The fair maid of Montana'."

Heyes folded back the novella and continued to read. Kid thought for a moment. Suddenly he started upright.

"That isn't Meg's book?"

Heyes grinned and nodded. He turned another page.

"What's it like?" asked Kid.

His partner actually tore his eyes away for a moment, to scan the ceiling in thought.

"Diverting," he finally decided and went back to reading.

Kid watched him for a few moments, then shifted in his seat.

With studied casualness he asked, "Which one of us does Mary-Sue pick in the end?" He sniffed, "If there's any justice - oughta be Kid Curry, since he pulled her outta that cave-in. Not that it matters."

A beat.

Kid snapped, "Heyes - does Kid Curry get the girl?"

The grin on Heyes face grew wider, "Nope!"

"She don't pick you!" protested his partner, "Far as I recall, you did nothing, except dive in a lake an' treat some good-time gal, called Yasmeena, kinda off-hand!"

"Nope!" said Heyes again, still grinning from ear to ear. He added, "Lovely Mary-Sue waves off both heroes, in a touching farewell and rides off into the sunset, with an upright young Sheriff."

"With the Sheriff!" exclaimed Kid in disgust. He stared at Heyes, "Can't see what there is in that for YOU to look so all-fired smug about!"

"Oh, I don't know," mused Heyes, "He sounds a decent sort of fella. Listen, 'His dark hair fell forward over his handsome brow, in a way that made Mary-Sue yearn to softly stroke it back. The brown eyes were warm with humour and intelligence. When she looked into their intense depths, Mary-Sue felt he could read her very soul. His smile - his smile could light up a room. Deep dimples appeared in his smooth tanned cheeks and his head would be thrown back with the joy of radiant vital life, before his rich, deep laughter rang out. When he kissed her, Mary-Sue thought she could never have imagined a man of such sinewy strength, to have a touch so gentle - so tender.'"

Heyes threw his partner a satisfied glance, "This Sheriff - he goes by the name, 'Joshua Smith'"

FINIS

---oooOOOOOOOooo---

End notes:

(It goes without saying that the mine owners in the story are pure fiction - no resemblance to the real 'Copper Kings' is intended, except in the location and timing of the piece. Likewise any resemblance to the real Dumas brothel is not only unintentional - but extremely lucky! Most of the facts scattered thinly through the text come from - "The Oxford History of the American West". NOT that it ended up having much to do with copper mining - whatever my original intention may have been. This one really morphed!)

The so called 'Copper Kings' of Butte, Montana, made millions of dollars through Butte's rich mineral deposits.

One, a formerly penniless Irish immigrant Marcus Daly came to Butte, Montana from California to investigate the silver mines. Armed with mining venture capital, Daly began operations, only to discover in 1882 that his mine had little silver but contained one of the largest copper deposits ever discovered.

He began construction of his giant Copper Smelter 26 miles west in 1883 and connected it to Butte by rail. The town of Anaconda grew up around this new smelter.

The advent of electricity caused a soaring demand for copper. Butte became one of the most prosperous cities in the country and was often called "the Richest Hill on Earth".

The influx of miners gave Butte the reputation as a wide-open town where any vice was obtainable. The city's famous saloon and red-light district, called the "Line", was centred on Mercury Street, where the elegant bordellos included the famous Dumas Brothel, regarded as the longest-running house of prostitution in the U.S. In the brick alley behind the brothel was the equally famous Venus Alley, where women plied their trade in small cubicles called "cribs".

The Anaconda Copper Mining Company engaged in questionable business practices and at one point even resorted to gunning down strikers in the Anaconda Road Massacre.

The Miners' Protective Association (of which the fictional Hal McBride is an active member) sought higher wages, shorter hours and better working conditions, "bead and butter unionism." Later - in the early 1890s - the Western Federation of Miners made Butte the "Gibraltar of Unionism"

However, the demands we hear Emerson Connor quoted as supporting in the final chapter, actually come from the United Mine Workers of America in the preamble to their constitution, adopted in Indianapolis on January 25, 1890. This is technically too late for my purposes - but the context made it fairly clear the constitution consolidated earlier union demands.


End file.
